■ 


A*  it  ^ 


THE  WHITE  PEACOCK 


THE 

WHITE  PEACOCK 


A     NOVEL 


BY 


D.     H.     LAWRENCE 


NEW     YORK 

DUFFIELD     &     COMPANY 

1911 


Copyright,  1911,  by 
DUFFIELD    &    COMPANY 


THE  TROW  PRESS,  NEW  YORK 


CONTENTS 


PART  I 

CHAPTER  PAGES 

I. — The  People  of  Nethermere         ....  3 

II. — Dangling  the  Apple 17 

III. — A  Vendor  of  Visions 32 

IV. — The  Father 49 

V. — The  Scent  of  Blood 67 

VI. — The  Education  of  George 87 

VII. — Lettie  Pulls  Down  the  Small  Gold  Grapes  .  114 

VIII. — The  Riot  of  Christmas 140 

IX. — Lettie  Comes  of  Age 158 


PART  II 

I. — Strange  Blossoms  and  Strange  New  Budding  .  191 

II. — A  Shadow  in  Spring 223 

III. — The  Irony  of  Inspired  Moments        .       .       .  243 

IV. — Kiss  When  She's  Ripe  for  Tears       .       .       .  270 

V. — An  Arrow  from  the  Impatient  God  .        .       .291 

VI. — The  Courting 302 

VII. — The  Fascination  of  the  Forbidden  Apple       .  313 

VIII. — A  Poem  of  Friendship 333 

IX. — Pastorals  and  Peonies 344 

PART  III 

I. — A  New  Start  in  Life 361 

II. — Puffs  of  Wind  in  the  Sail 380 

III. — The  First  Pages  of  Several  Romances    .        .  392 

IV. — Domestic  Life  at  the  Ram 409 

V. — The  Dominant  Motif  of  Suffering    .       .        .  425 

VI.— Pisgah 442 

VII.— The  Scarp  Slope 465 

VIII. — A  Prospect  Among  the  Marshes  of  Lethe  479 


PART  I 


CHAPTEK   I 

THE    PEOPLE    OF    NETHEEMERE 

I  stood  watching  the  shadowy  fish  slide  through  the 
gloom  of  the  mill-pond.  They  were  grey,  descend- 
ants of  the  silvery  things  that  had  darted  away  from 
the  monks,  in  the  young  days  when  the  valley  was 
lusty.  The  whole  place  was  gathered  in  the  musing 
of  old  age.  The  thick-piled  trees  on  the  far  shore 
were  too  dark  and  sober  to  dally  with  the  sun;  the 
weeds  stood  crowded  and  motionless.  Not  even  a 
little  wind  flickered  the  willows  of  the  islets.  The 
water  lay  softly,  intensely  still.  Only  the  thin  stream 
falling  through  the  mill-race  murmured  to  itself 
of  the  tumult  of  life  which  had  once  quickened  the 
valley. 

I  was  almost  startled  into  the  water  from  my 
perch  on  the  alder  roots  by  a  voice  saying : 

"  Well,  what  is  there  to  look  at  ?  "  My  friend  was 
a  young  farmer,  stoutly  built,  brown  eyed,  with  a 
naturally  fair  skin  burned  dark  and  freckled  in 
patches.  He  laughed,  seeing  me  start,  and  looked 
down  at  me  with  lazy  curiosity. 

"  I  was  thinking  the  place  seemed  old,  brooding 
over  its  past." 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  lazy  indulgent  smile,  and 
lay  down  on  his  back  on  the  bank,  saying: 

"  It's  all  right  for  a  doss — here." 
s 


4  THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

"  Your  life  is  nothing  else  but  a  doss.  I  shall 
laugh  when  somebody  jerks  you  awake,"  I  replied. 

He  smiled  comfortably  and  put  his  hands  over  his 
eyes  because  of  the  light. 

"  Why  shall  you  laugh  ?  "  he  drawled. 

"  Because  you'll  be  amusing,"  said  I. 

We  were  silent  for  a  long  time,  when  he  rolled 
over  and  began  to  poke  with  his  finger  in  the  bank. 

"  I  thought/'  he  said  in  his  leisurely  fashion, 
"  there  was  some  cause  for  all  this  buzzing." 

I  looked,  and  saw  that  he  had  poked  out  an  old, 
papery  nest  of  those  pretty  field  bees  which  seem  to 
have  dipped  their  tails  into  bright  amber  dust. 
Some  agitated  insects  ran  round  the  cluster  of  eggs, 
most  of  which  were  empty  now,  the  crowns  gone ;  a 
few  young  bees  staggered  about  in  uncertain  flight 
before  they  could  gather  power  to  wing  away  in  a 
strong  course.  He  watched  the  little  ones  that  ran  in 
and  out  among  the  shadows  of  the  grass,  hither  and 
thither  in  consternation. 

"  Come  here — come  here !  "  he  said,  imprisoning 
one  poor  little  bee  under  a  grass  stalk,  while  with 
another  stalk  he  loosened  the  folded  blue  wings. 

"  Don't  tease  the  little  beggar,"  I  said. 

"  It  doesn't  hurt  him — I  wanted  to  see  if  it  was 
because  he  couldn't  spread  his  wings  that  he  couldn't 
fly.  There  he  goes — no,  he  doesn't.  Let's  try  an- 
other." 

"  Leave  them  alone,"  said  I.  "  Let  them  run  in 
the  sun.  They're  only  just  out  of  the  shells.  Don't 
torment  them  into  flight." 

He  persisted,  however,  and  broke  the  wing  of  the 
next. 


PEOPLE   OF   NETHERMERE      5 

"  Oh,  dear — pity !  "  said  he,  and  he  crushed  the 
little  thing  between  his  fingers.  Then  he  examined 
the  eggs,  and  pulled  out  some  silk  from  round  the 
dead  larva,  and  investigated  it  all  in  a  desultory 
manner,  asking  of  me  all  I  knew  about  the  insects. 
When  he  had  finished  he  flung  the  clustered  eggs 
into  the  water  and  rose,  pulling  out  his  watch  from 
the  depth  of  his  breeches'  pocket. 

"  I  thought  it  was  about  dinner-time,"  said  he, 
smiling  at  me.  "  I  always  know  when  it's  about 
twelve.     Are  you  coming  in  ?  " 

"  I'm  coming  down  at  any  rate,"  said  I  as  we 
passed  along  the  pond  bank,  and  over  the  plank- 
bridge  that  crossed  the  brow  of  the  falling  sluice. 
The  bankside  where  the  grey  orchard  twisted  its 
trees,  was  a  steep  declivity,  long  and  sharp,  dropping 
down  to  the  garden. 

The  stones  of  the  large  house  were  burdened  with 
ivy  and  honey-suckle,  and  the  great  lilac-bush  that 
had  once  guarded  the  porch  now  almost  blocked  the 
doorway.  We  passed  out  of  the  front  garden  into 
the  farm-yard,  and  walked  along  the  brick  path  to 
the  back  door. 

"  Shut  the  gate,  will  you  ?  "  he  said  to  me  over  his 
shoulder,  as  he  passed  on  first. 

We  went  through  the  large  scullery  into  the 
kitchen.  The  servant-girl  was  just  hurriedly  snatch- 
ing the  table-cloth  out  of  the  table  drawer,  and  his 
mother,  a  quaint  little  woman  with  big,  brown  eyes, 
was  hovering  round  the  wide  fire-place  with  a  fork. 

"  Dinner  not  ready  ?  "  said  he  with  a  shade  of  re- 
sentment. 

"  No,  George,"  replied  his  mother  apologetically, 


6  THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  it  isn't.  The  fire  wouldn't  burn  a  bit.  You  shall 
have  it  in  a  few  minutes,  though." 

He  dropped  on  the  sofa  and  began  to  read  a  novel. 
I  wanted  to  go,  but  his  mother  insisted  on  my  stay- 
ing. 

"  Don't  go,"  she  pleaded.  "  Emily  will  be  so  glad 
if  you  stay, — and  father  will,  I'm  sure.  Sit  down, 
now." 

I  sat  down  on  a  rush  chair  by  the  long  window 
that  looked  out  into  the  yard.  As  he  was  reading, 
and  as  it  took  all  his  mother's  powers  to  watch  the 
potatoes  boil  and  the  meat  roast,  I  was  left  to  my 
thoughts.  George,  indifferent  to  all  claims,  con- 
tinued to  read.  It  was  very  annoying  to  watch  him 
pulling  his  brown  moustache,  and  reading  indolently 
while  the  dog  rubbed  against  his  leggings  and  against 
the  knee  of  his  old  riding-breeches.  He  would  not 
even  be  at  the  trouble  to  play  with  Trip's  ears,  he 
was  so  content  with  his  novel  and  his  moustache. 
Round  and  round  twirled  his  thick  fingers,  and  the 
muscles  of  his  bare  arm  moved  slightly  under  the 
red-brown  skin.  The  little  square  window  above  him 
filtered  a  green  light  from  the  foliage  of  the  great 
horse-chestnut  outside  and  the  glimmer  fell  on  his 
dark  hair,  and  trembled  across  the  plates  which 
Annie  was  reaching  down  from  the  rack,  and  across 
the  face  of  the  tall  clock.  The  kitchen  was  very  big ; 
the  table  looked  lonely,  and  the  chairs  mourned 
darkly  for  the  lost  companionship  of  the  sofa;  the 
chimney  was  a  black  cavern  away  at  the  back,  and 
the  inglenook  seats  shut  in  another  little  compart- 
ment ruddy  with  fire-light,  where  the  mother  hov- 
ered.    It  was  rather  a  desolate  kitchen,  such  a  bare 


PEOPLE    OF    NETHERMERE      7 

expanse  of  uneven  grey  flagstones,  such  far-away 
dark  corners  and  sober  furniture.  The  only  gay 
things  were  the  chintz  coverings  of  the  sofa  and  the 
arm-chair  cushions,  bright  red  in  the  bare  sombre 
room ;  some  might  smile  at  the  old  clock,  adorned  as 
it  was  with  remarkable  and  vivid  poultry;  in  me  it 
only  provoked  wonder  and  contemplation. 

In  a  little  while  we  heard  the  scraping  of  heavy 
boots  outside,  and  the  father  entered.  He  was  a  big 
burly  farmer,  with  his  half -bald  head  sprinkled  with 
crisp  little  curls. 

"  Hullo,  Cyril,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "  You've  not 
forsaken  us  then,"  and  turning  to  his  son : 

"  Have  you  many  more  rows  in  the  coppice  close  ?" 

"  Finished !  "  replied  George,  continuing  to  read. 

"  That's  all  right — you've  got  on  with  'em.  The 
rabbits  has  bitten  them  turnips  down,  mother." 

"  I  expect  so,"  replied  his  wife,  whose  soul  was  in 
the  saucepans.  At  last  she  deemed  the  potatoes 
cooked  and  went  out  with  the  steaming  pan. 

The  dinner  was  set  on  the  table  and  the  father 
began  to  carve.  George  looked  over  his  book  to  sur- 
vey the  fare  then  read  until  his  plate  was  handed 
him.  The  maid  sat  at  her  little  table  near  the  win- 
dow, and  we  began  the  meal.  There  came  the  tread- 
ing of  four  feet  along  the  brick  path,  and  a  little 
girl  entered,  followed  by  her  grown-up  sister.  The 
child's  long  brown  hair  was  tossed  wildly  back  be- 
neath her  sailor  hat.  She  flung  aside  this  article  of 
her  attire  and  sat  down  to  dinner,  talking  endlessly 
to  her  mother.  The  elder  sister,  a  girl  of  about 
twenty-one,  gave  me  a  smile  and  a  bright  look  from 
her  brown  eyes,  and  went  to  wash  her  hands.     Then 


8  THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

she  came  and  sat  down,  and  looked  disconsolately  at 
the  underdone  beef  on  her  plate. 

"  I  do  hate  this  raw  meat,"  she  said. 

"  Good  for  you,"  replied  her  brother,  who  was  eat- 
ing industriously.  "  Give  you  some  muscle  to  wallop 
the  nippers." 

She  pushed  it  aside,  and  began  to  eat  the  vege- 
tables. Her  brother  re-charged  his  plate  and  con- 
tinued to  eat. 

"  Well,  our  George,  I  do  think  you  might  pass  a 
body  that  gravy,"  said  Mollie,  the  younger  sister,  in 
injured  tones. 

"  Certainly,"  he  replied.  "  Won't  you  have  the 
joint  as  well  ?  " 

"  No !  "  retorted  the  young  lady  of  twelve,  "  I 
don't  expect  you've  done  with  it  yet." 

"  Clever !  "  he  exclaimed  across  a  mouthful. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ? "  said  the  elder  sister  Emily, 
sarcastically. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied  complacently,  "  you've  made 
her  as  sharp  as  yourself,  I  see,  since  you've  had  her 
in  Standard  Six.  I'll  try  a  potato,  mother,  if  you 
can  find  one  that's  done." 

"  Well,  George,  they  seem  mixed,  I'm  sure  that 
was  done  that  I  tried.  There — they  are  mixed — 
look  at  this  one,  it's  soft  enough.  I'm  sure  they  were 
boiling  long  enough." 

"  Don't  explain  and  apologise  to  him,"  said  Emily 
irritably. 

"  Perhaps  the  kids  were  too  much  for  her  this 
morning,"  he  said  calmly,  to  nobody  in  particular. 

"  No,"  chimed  in  Mollie,  "  she  knocked  a  lad 
across  his  nose  and  made  it  bleed." 


PEOPLE   OF   NETHERMERE      9 

"  Little  wretch,"  said  Emily,  swallowing  with  dif- 
ficulty. "  I'm  glad  I  did !  Some  of  my  lads  belong 
to— to " 

"  To  the  devil,"  suggested  George,  but  she  would 
not  accept  it  from  him. 

Her  father  sat  laughing ;  her  mother  with  distress 
in  her  eyes,  looked  at  her  daughter,  who  hung  her 
head  and  made  patterns  on  the  table-cloth  with  her 
finger. 

"  Are  they  worse  than  the  last  lot  ? "  asked  the 
mother,  softly,  fearfully. 

"  ISTo — nothing  extra,"  was  the  curt  answer. 

"  She  merely  felt  like  bashing  'em/'  said  George, 
calling,  as  he  looked  at  the  sugar  bowl  and  at  his 
pudding : 

"  Fetch  some  more  sugar,  Annie." 

The  maid  rose  from  her  little  table  in  the  corner, 
and  the  mother  also  hurried  to  the  cupboard.  Emily 
trifled  with  her  dinner  and  said  bitterly  to  him : 

"  I  only  wish  you  had  a  taste  of  teaching,  it  would 
cure  your  self-satisfaction." 

"  Pf ! "  he  replied  contemptuously,  "  I  could  easily 
bleed  the  noses  of  a  handful  of  kids." 

"  You  wouldn't  sit  there  bleating  like  a  fatted 
calf,"  she  continued. 

This  speech  so  tickled  Mollie  that  she  went  off  into 
a  burst  of  laughter,  much  to  the  terror  of  her  mother, 
who  stood  up  in  trembling  apprehension  lest  she 
should  choke. 

"  You  made  a  joke,  Emily,"  he  said,  looking  at 
his  younger  sister's  contortions. 

Emily  was  too  impatient  to  speak  to  him  further, 
and  left  the  table.     Soon  the  two  men  went  back  to 


10        THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

the  fallow  to  the  turnips,  and  I  walked  along  the 
path  with  the  girls  as  they  were  going  to  school. 

"  He  irritates  me  in  everything  he  does  and  says," 
burst  out  Emily  with  much  heat. 

"  He's  a  pig  sometimes,"  said  I. 

"  He  is !  "  she  insisted.  "  He  irritates  me  past 
bearing,  with  his  grand  know-all  way,  and  his  heavy 
smartness — I  can't  beat  it.  And  the  way  mother 
humbles  herself  to  him !  " 

"  It  makes  you  wild,"  said  I. 

"  Wild !  "  she  echoed,  her  voice  vibrating  with 
nervous  passion.  We  walked  on  in  silence,  till  she 
asked. 

"  Have  you  brought  me  those  verses  of  yours  ?  " 

"  ~No — I'm  so  sorry — I've  forgotten  them  again. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  I've  sent  them  away." 

"  But  you  promised  me." 

"  You  know  what  my  promises  are.  I'm  as  irre- 
sponsible as  a  puff  of  wind." 

She  frowned  with  impatience  and  her  disappoint- 
ment was  greater  than  necessary.  When  I  left  her  at 
the  corner  of  the  lane  I  felt  a  sting  of  her  deep  re- 
proach in  my  mind.  I  always  felt  the  reproach 
when  she  had  gone. 

I  ran  over  the  little  bright  brook  that  came  from 
the  weedy,  bottom  pond.  The  stepping-stones  were 
white  in  the  sun,  and  the  water  slid  sleepily  among 
them.  One  or  two  butterflies,  indistinguishable 
against  the  blue  sky,  trifled  from  flower  to  flower  and 
led  me  up  the  hill,  across  the  field  where  the  hot  sun- 
shine stood  as  in  a  bowl,  and  I  was  entering  the  cav- 
erns of  the  wood,  where  the  oaks  bowed  over  and 
saved  us  a  grateful  shade.     Within,  everything  was 


PEOPLE   OF    NETHERMERE    11 

bo  still  and  cool  that  my  steps  hung  heavily  along  the 
path.  The  bracken  held  out  arms  to  me,  and  the 
bosom  of  the  wood  was  full  of  sweetness,  but  I  jour- 
neyed on,  spurred  by  the  attacks  of  an  army  of  flies 
which  kept  up  a  guerrilla  warfare  round  my  head  till 
I  had  passed  the  black  rhododendron  bushes  in  the 
garden,  where  they  left  me,  scenting  no  doubt,  Ke- 
becca's  pots  of  vinegar  and  sugar. 

The  low  red  house,  with  its  roof  discoloured  and 
sunken,  dozed  in  sunlight,  and  slept  profoundly  in 
the  shade  thrown  by  the  massive  maples  encroaching 
from  the  wood. 

There  was  no  one  in  the  dining-room,  but  I  could 
hear  the  whirr  of  a  sewing-machine  coming  from  the 
little  study,  a  sound  as  of  some  great,  vindictive  in- 
sect buzzing  about,  now  louder,  now  softer,  now  set- 
tling. Then  came  a  jingling  of  four  or  five  keys 
at  the  bottom  of  the  keyboard  of  the  drawing-room 
piano,  continuing  till  the  whole  range  had  been  cov- 
ered in  little  leaps,  as  if  some  very  fat  frog  had 
jumped  from  end  to  end. 

"  That  must  be  mother  dusting  the  drawing-room/' 
I  thought.  The  unaccustomed  sound  of  the  old  piano 
startled  me.  The  vocal  chords  behind  the  green  silk 
bosom, — you  only  discovered  it  was  not  a  bronze  silk 
bosom  by  poking  a  fold  aside, — had  become  as  thin 
and  tuneless  as  a  dried  old  woman's.  Age  had  yel- 
lowed the  teeth  of  my  mother's  little  piano,  and 
shrunken  its  spindle  legs.  Poor  old  thing,  it  could 
but  screech  in  answer  to  Lettie's  fingers  flying  across 
it  in  scorn,  so  the  prim,  brown  lips  were  always  closed 
save  to  admit  the  duster. 

Now,  however,  the  little  old  maidish  piano  began 


12        THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

to  sing  a  tinkling  Victorian  melody,  and  I  fancied  it 
must  be  some  demure  little  woman  with  curls  like 
bunches  of  hops  on  either  side  of  her  face,  who  was 
touching  it.  The  coy  little  tune  teased  me  with  old 
sensations,  but  my  memory  would  give  me  no  as- 
sistance. As  I  stood  trying  to  fix  my  vague  feelings, 
Rebecca  came  in  to  remove  the  cloth  from  the  table. 

"  Who  is  playing,  Beck  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Your  mother,  Cyril." 

"  But  she  never  plays.    I  thought  she  couldn't." 

"  Ah,"  replied  Rebecca,  "  you  forget  when  you 
was  a  little  thing  sitting  playing  against  her  frock 
with  the  prayer-book,  and  she  singing  to  you.  You 
can't  remember  her  when  her  curls  was  long  like  a 
piece  of  brown  silk.  You  can't  remember  her  when 
she  used  to  play  and  sing,  before  Lettie  came  and 
your  father  was " 

Rebecca  turned  and  left  the  room.  I  went  and 
peeped  in  the  drawing-room.  Mother  sat  before  the 
little  brown  piano,  with  her  plump,  rather  stiff  fin- 
gers moving  across  the  keys,  a  faint  smile  on  her  lips. 
At  that  moment  Lettie  came  flying  past  me,  and 
flung  her  arms  round  mother's  neck,  kissing  her  and 
saying: 

"  Oh,  my  Dear,  fancy  my  Dear  playing  the  piano ! 
Oh,  Little  Woman,  we  never  knew  you  could !  " 

"  Nor  can  I,"  replied  mother  laughing,  disengag- 
ing herself.  "  I  only  wondered  if  I  could  just  strum 
out  this  old  tune;  I  learned  it  when  I  was  quite  a 
girl,  on  this  piano.  It  was  a  cracked  one  then;  the 
only  one  I  had." 

"  But  play  again,  dearie,  do  play  again.  It  was 
like  the  clinking  of  lustre  glasses,  and  you  look  so 


PEOPLE    OF   NETHERMERE    13 

quaint  at  the  piano.  Do  play,  my  dear ! "  pleaded 
Lettie. 

"  Nay,"  said  my  mother,  "  the  touch  of  the  old 
keys  on  my  fingers  is  making  me  sentimental — you 
wouldn't  like  to  see  me  reduced  to  the  tears  of  old 
age?" 

"  Old  age ! "  scolded  Lettie,  kissing  her  again. 
"  You  are  young  enough  to  play  little  romances. 
Tell  us  about  it  mother." 

"  About  what,  child  ?  " 

"  When  you  used  to  play." 

"  Before  my  fingers  were  stiff  with  fifty  odd  years  ? 
Where  have  you  been,  Cyril,  that  you  weren't  in  to 
dinner  ? " 

"  Only  down  to  Strelley  Mill,"  said  I. 

"  Of  course,"  said  mother  coldly. 

"  Why  <  of  course '  ? "  I  asked. 

"  And  you  came  away  as  soon  as  Em  went  to 
school  \  "  said  Lettie. 

"  I  did,"  said  I. 

They  were  cross  with  me,  these  two  women.  After 
I  had  swallowed  my  little  resentment  I  said: 

"  They  would  have  me  stay  to  dinner." 

My  mother  vouchsafed  no  reply. 

"  And  has  the  great  George  found  a  girl  yet  ? " 
asked  Lettie. 

"  No,"  I  replied,  "  he  never  will  at  this  rate.  No- 
body will  ever  be  good  enough  for  him." 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  you  can  find  in  any 
of  them  to  take  you  there  so  much,"  said  my  mother. 

"  Don't  be  so  mean,  Mater,"  I  answered,  nettled. 
"  You  know  I  like  them." 

"  I  know  you  like  her/'  said  my  mother  sarcastic- 


14         THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

ally.  "  As  for  him — he's  an  unlicked  cub.  What 
can  you  expect  when  his  mother  has  spoiled  him  as 
she  has.  But  I  wonder  you  are  so  interested  in  lick- 
ing him."     My  mother  sniffed  contemptuously. 

"  He  is  rather  good  looking,"  said  Lettie  with  a 
smile. 

"  You  could  make  a  man  of  him,  I  am  sure,"  I 
said,  bowing  satirically  to  her. 

"  I  am  not  interested,"  she  replied,  also  satirical. 

Then  she  tossed  her  head,  and  all  the  fine  hairs 
that  were  free  from  bonds  made  a  mist  of  yellow 
light  in  the  sun. 

"  What  frock  shall  I  wear  Mater  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Nay,  don't  ask  me,"  replied  her  mother. 

"  I  think  I'll  wear  the  heliotrope — though  this  sun 
will  fade  it,"  she  said  pensively.  She  was  tall,  nearly 
six  feet  in  height,  but  slenderly  formed.  Her  hair 
was  yellow,  tending  towards  a  dun  brown.  She  had 
beautiful  eyes  and  brows,  but  not  a  nice  nose.  Her 
hands  were  very  beautiful. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  I  asked. 

She  did  not  answer  me. 

"  To  Tempest's  1 "  I  said.     She  did  not  reply. 

"  Well  I  don't  know  what  you  can  see  in  him/'  I 
continued. 

"  Indeed !  "  said  she.  "  He's  as  good  as  most 
folk "  then  we  both  began  to  laugh. 

"  Not,"  she  continued  blushing,  "  that  I  think  any- 
thing about  him.  I'm  merely  going  for  a  game  of 
tennis.    Are  you  coming  ?  " 

"  What  shall  you  say  if  I  agree  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh !  "  she  tossed  her  head.  "  We  shall  all  be 
very  pleased  I'm  sure." 


PEOPLE    OF   NETHERMERE    15 

"  Ooray !  n  said  I  with  fine  irony. 

She  laughed  at  me,  blushed,  and  ran  upstairs. 

Half  an  hour  afterwards  she  popped  her  head  in 
the  study  to  bid  me  good-bye,  wishing  to  see  if  I 
appreciated  her.  She  was  so  charming  in  her  fresh 
linen  frock  and  flowered  hat,  that  I  could  not  but  be 
proud  of  her.  She  expected  me  to  follow  her  to  the 
window,  for  from  between  the  great  purple  rhodo- 
dendrons she  waved  me  a  lace  mitten,  then  glinted 
on  like  a  flower  moving  brightly  through  the  green 
hazels.  Her  path  lay  through  the  wood  in  the  oppo- 
site direction  from  Strelley  Mill,  down  the  red  drive 
across  the  tree-scattered  space  to  the  highroad.  This 
road  ran  along  the  end  of  our  lakelet,  Nethermere, 
for  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  Eethermere  is  the 
lowest  in  a  chain  of  three  ponds.  The  other  two  are 
the  upper  and  lower  mill  ponds  at  Strelley:  this  is 
the  largest  and  most  charming  piece  of  water,  a  mile 
long  and  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  width.  Our 
wood  runs  down  to  the  water's  edge.  On  the  oppo- 
site side,  on  a  hill  beyond  the  farthest  corner  of  the 
lake,  stands  Highclose.  It  looks  across  the  water 
at  us  in  Woodside  with  one  eye  as  it  were, 
while  our  cottage  casts  a  side-long  glance  back 
again  at  the  proud  house,  and  peeps  coyly  through 
the  trees. 

I  could  see  Lettie  like  a  distant  sail  stealing  along 
the  water's  edge,  her  parasol  flowing  above.  She 
turned  through  the  wicket  under  the  pine  clump, 
climbed  the  steep  field,  and  was  enfolded  again  in 
the  trees  beside  Highclose. 

Leslie  was  sprawled  on  a  camp  chair,  under  a  cop- 
per  beech   on   the   lawn,    his   cigar   glowing.      He 


16        THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

watched  the  ash  grow  strange  and  grey  in  the  warm 
daylight,  and  he  felt  sorry  for  poor  Nell  Wycherley, 
whom  he  had  driven  that  morning  to  the  station,  for 
would  she  not  be  frightfully  cut  up  as  the  train 
whirled  her  further  and  further  away  ?  These  girls 
are  so  daft  with  a  fellow !  But  she  was  a  nice  little 
thing — he'd  get  Marie  to  write  to  her. 

At  this  point  he  caught  sight  of  a  parasol  flutter- 
ing along  the  drive,  and  immediately  he  fell  into  a 
deep  sleep,  with  just  a  tiny  slit  in  his  slumber  to 
allow  him  to  see  Lettie  approach.  She,  finding  her 
watchman  ungallantly  asleep,  and  his  cigar,  instead 
of  his  lamp  untrimmed,  broke  off  a  twig  of  syringa 
whose  ivory  buds  had  not  yet  burst  with  luscious 
scent.  I  know  not  how  the  end  of  his  nose  tickled  in 
anticipation  before  she  tickled  him  in  reality,  but  he 
kept  bravely  still  until  the  petals  swept  him.  Then, 
starting  from  his  sleep,  he  exclaimed : 

"  Lettie !     I  was  dreaming  of  kisses !  " 

"  On  the  bridge  of  your  nose  ?  "  laughed  she — 
"  But  whose  were  the  kisses  ?  " 

"  Who  produced  the  sensation  ?  "  he  smiled. 

"  Since  I  only  tapped  your  nose  you  should  dream 
of " 

"  Go  on !  "  said  he,  expectantly. 

"  Of  Doctor  Slop,"  she  replied,  smiling  to  herself 
as  she  closed  her  parasol. 

"  I  do  not  know  the  gentleman,"  he  said,  afraid 
that  she  was  laughing  at  him. 

"  No — your  nose  is  quite  classic,"  she  answered, 
giving  him  one  of  those  brief  intimate  glances  with 
which  women  flatter  men  so  cleverly.  He  radiated 
with  pleasure. 


CHAPTEK   II 


DANGLING    THE    APPLE 


The  long-drawn  booming  of  the  wind  in  the  wood 
and  the  sobbing  and  moaning  in  the  maples  and  oaks 
near  the  house,  had  made  Lettie  restless.  She  did  not 
want  to  go  anywhere,  she  did  not  want  to  do  any- 
thing, so  she  insisted  on  my  just  going  out  with  her 
as  far  as  the  edge  of  the  water.  We  crossed  the 
tangle  of  fern  and  bracken,  bramble  and  wild  rasp- 
berry canes  that  spread  in  the  open  space  before  the 
house,  and  we  went  down  the  grassy  slope  to  the  edge 
of  Nethermere.  The  wind  whipped  up  noisy  little 
wavelets,  and  the  cluck  and  clatter  of  these  among 
the  pebbles,  the  swish  of  the  rushes  and  the  freshen- 
ing of  the  breeze  against  our  faces,  roused  us. 

The  tall  meadow-sweet  was  in  bud  along  the  tiny 
beach  and  we  walked  knee-deep  among  it,  watching 
the  foamy  race  of  the  ripples  and  the  whitening  of 
the  willows  on  the  far  shore.  At  the  place  where 
Nethermere  narrows  to  the  upper  end,  and  receives 
the  brook  from  Strelley,  the  wood  sweeps  down  and 
stands  with  its  feet  washed  round  with  waters.  We 
broke  our  way  along  the  shore,  crushing  the  sharp- 
scented  wild  mint,  whose  odour  checks  the  breath, 
and  examining  here  and  there  among  the  marshy 
places  ragged  nests  of  water-fowl,  now  deserted. 
Some  slim  young  lap-wings  started  at  our  approach, 

17 


18         THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

and  sped  lightly  from  us,  their  necks  outstretched  in 
straining  fear  of  that  which  could  not  hurt  them. 
One,  two,  fled  cheeping  into  cover  of  the  wood;  al- 
most instantly  they  coursed  back  again  to  where  we 
stood,  to  dart  off  from  us  at  an  angle,  in  an  ecstasy 
of  bewilderment  and  terror. 

"  What  has  frightened  the  crazy  little  things  ?  " 
asked  Lettie. 

"  I  don't  know.  They've  cheek  enough  sometimes ; 
then  they  go  whining,  skelping  off  from  a  fancy  as 
if  they  had  a  snake  under  their  wings." 

Lettie  however  paid  small  attention  to  my  elo- 
quence. She  pushed  aside  an  elder  bush,  which 
graciously  showered  down  upon  her  myriad  crumbs 
from  its  flowers  like  slices  of  bread,  and  bathed  her 
in  a  medicinal  scent.  I  followed  her,  taking  my 
dose,  and  was  startled  to  hear  her  sudden,  "  Oh, 
Cyril!" 

On  the  bank  before  us  lay  a  black  cat,  both  hind- 
paws  torn  and  bloody  in  a  trap.  It  had  no  doubt 
been  bounding  forward  after  its  prey  when  it  was 
caught.  It  was  gaunt  and  wild ;  no  wonder  it  fright- 
ened the  poor  lap-wings  into  cheeping  hysteria.  It 
glared  at  us  fiercely,  growling  low. 

"  How  cruel — oh,  how  cruel !  "  cried  Lettie,  shud- 
dering. 

I  wrapped  my  cap  and  Lettie's  scarf  over  my 
hands  and  bent  to  open  the  trap.  The  cat  struck 
with  her  teeth,  tearing  the  cloth  convulsively.  When 
it  was  free,  it  sprang  away  with  one  bound,  and  fell 
panting,  watching  us. 

I  wrapped  the  creature  in  my  jacket,  and  picked 
her  up,  murmuring: 


DANGLING    THE    APPLE        19 

"  Poor  Mrs.  Nickie  Ben — we  always  prophesied  it 
of  you." 

"  What  will  you  do  with  it  ?  "  asked  Lettie. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  Strelley  Mill  cats,"  said  I,  "  and 
so  I'll  take  her  home." 

The  poor  animal  moved  and  murmured  as  I  car- 
ried her,  but  we  brought  her  home.  They  stared,  on 
seeing  me  enter  the  kitchen  coatless,  carrying  a 
strange  bundle,  while  Lettie  followed  me. 

"  I  have  brought  poor  Mrs.  Nickie  Ben,"  said  I, 
unfolding  my  burden. 

"  Oh,  what  a  shame !  "  cried  Emily,  putting  out 
her  hand  to  touch  the  cat,  but  drawing  quickly  back, 
like  the  pee-wits. 

"  This  is  how  they  all  go,"  said  the  mother. 

"  I  wish  keepers  had  to  sit  two  or  three  days  with 
their  bare  ankles  in  a  trap,"  said  Mollie  in  vindictive 
tones. 

We  laid  the  poor  brute  on  the  rug,  and  gave  it 
warm  milk.  It  drank  very  little,  being  too  feeble, 
Mollie,  full  of  anger,  fetched  Mr.  Nickie  Ben,  an- 
other fine  black  cat,  to  survey  his  crippled  mate.  Mr. 
Nickie  Ben  looked,  shrugged  his  sleek  shoulders,  and 
walked  away  with  high  steps.  There  was  a  general 
feminine  outcry  on  masculine  callousness. 

George  came  in  for  hot  water.  He  exclaimed  in 
surprise  on  seeing  us,  and  his  eyes  became  animated. 

"  Look  at  Mrs.  Nickie  Ben,"  cried  Mollie.  He 
dropped  on  his  knees  on  the  rug  and  lifted  the 
wounded  paws. 

"  Broken,"  said  he. 

"  How  awful !  "  said  Emily,  shuddering  violently, 
and  leaving  the  room. 


20        THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

"  Both  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Only  one— look!" 

"  You  are  hurting  her !  "  cried  Lettie. 

"  It's  no  good,"  said  he. 

Mollie  and  the  mother  hurried  out  of  the  kitchen 
into  the  parlour. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  asked  Lettie. 

"  Put  her  out  of  her  misery,"  he  replied,  taking 
up  the  poor  cat.     We  followed  him  into  the  barn. 

"  The  quickest  way,"  said  he,  "  is  to  swing  her 
round  and  knock  her  head  against  the  wall." 

"  You  make  me  sick,"  exclaimed  Lettie. 

"  I'll  drown  her  then,"  he  said  with  a  smile.  We 
watched  him  morbidly,  as  he  took  a  length  of  twine 
and  fastened  a  noose  round  the  animal's  neck,  and 
near  it  an  iron  goose;  he  kept  a  long  piece  of  cord 
attached  to  the  goose. 

"  You're  not  coming,  are  you  ?  "  said  he.  Lettie 
looked  at  him ;  she  had  grown  rather  white. 

"  It'll  make  you  sick,"  he  said.  She  did  not  an- 
swer, but  followed  him  across  the  yard  to  the  garden. 
On  the  bank  of  the  lower  mill-pond  he  turned  again 
to  us  and  said: 

"  Now  for  it ! — you  are  chief  mourners."  As 
neither  of  us  replied,  he  smiled,  and  dropped  the 
poor  writhing  cat  into  the  water,  saying,  "  Good-bye, 
Mrs.  Nickie  Ben." 

We  waited  on  the  bank  some  time.  He  eyed  us 
curiously. 

"  Cyril,"  said  Lettie  quietly,  "  isn't  it  cruel  ? — 
isn't  it  awful  I  " 

I  had  nothing  to  say. 

"  Do  you  mean  me  ?  "  asked  George. 


DANGLING    THE   APPLE        21 

"  Not  you  in  particular — everything !  If  we  move 
the  blood  rises  in  our  heel-prints." 

He  looked  at  her  seriously,  with  dark  eyes. 

"  I  had  to  drown  her  out  of  mercy,"  said  he,  fas- 
tening the  cord  he  held  to  an  ash-pole.  Then  he  went 
to  get  a  spade,  and  with  it,  he  dug  a  grave  in  the  old 
black  earth. 

"  If,"  said  he,  "  the  poor  old  cat  had  made  a  pret- 
tier corpse,  you'd  have  thrown  violets  on  her." 

He  had  struck  the  spade  into  the  ground,  and 
hauled  up  the  cat  and  the  iron  goose. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  surveying  the  hideous  object, 
"  haven't  her  good  looks  gone !  She  was  a  fine 
cat." 

"  Bury  it  and  have  done,"  Lettie  replied. 

He  did  so  asking :  "  Shall  you  have  bad  dreams 
after  it?" 

"  Dreams  do  not  trouble  me,"  she  answered,  turn- 
ing away. 

We  went  indoors,  into  the  parlour,  where  Emily 
sat  by  a  window,  biting  her  finger.  The  room  was 
long  and  not  very  high;  there  was  a  great  rough 
beam  across  the  ceiling.  On  the  mantel-piece,  and 
in  the  fireplace,  and  over  the  piano  were  wild  flowers 
and  fresh  leaves  plentifully  scattered;  the  room  was 
cool  with  the  scent  of  the  woods. 

"  Has  he  done  it  ?  "  asked  Emily — "  and  did  you 
watch  him?  If  I  had  seen  it  I  should  have  hated 
the  sight  of  him,  and  Fd  rather  have  touched  a  mag- 
got than  him." 

"  I  shouldn't  be  particularly  pleased  if  he  touched 
me,"  said  Lettie. 

"  There  is  something  so  loathsome  about  callous- 


WL        THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

ness  and  brutality,"  said  Emily.  "  He  fills  me  with 
disgust." 

"  Does  he  ?  "  said  Lettie,  smiling  coldly.  She  went 
across  to  the  old  piano.  "  He's  only  healthy.  He's 
never  been  sick,  not  anyway,  yet."  She  sat  down 
and  played  at  random,  letting  the  numbed  notes  fall 
like  dead  leaves  from  the  haughty,  ancient  piano. 

Emily  and  I  talked  on  by  the  window,  about  books 
and  people.  She  was  intensely  serious,  and  gener- 
ally succeeded  in  reducing  me  to  the  same  state. 

After  a  while,  when  the  milking  and  feeding  were 
finished,  George  came  in.  Lettie  was  still  playing 
the  piano.  He  asked  her  why  she  didn't  play  some- 
thing with  a  tune  in  it,  and  this  caused  her  to  turn 
round  in  her  chair  to  give  him  a  withering  answer. 
His  appearance,  however,  scattered  her  words  like 
startled  birds.  He  had  come  straight  from  washing 
in  the  scullery,  to  the  parlour,  and  he  stood  behind 
Lettie's  chair  unconcernedly  wiping  the  moisture 
from  his  arms.  His  sleeves  were  rolled  up  to  the 
shoulder,  and  his  shirt  was  opened  wide  at  the  breast. 
Lettie  was  somewhat  taken  aback  by  the  sight  of  him 
standing  with  legs  apart,  dressed  in  dirty  leggings 
and  boots,  and  breeches  torn  at  the  knee,  naked  at  the 
breast  and  arms. 

"  Why  don't  you  play  something  with  a  tune  in 
it  ? "  he  repeated,  rubbing  the  towel  over  his  shoul- 
ders beneath  the  shirt. 

"  A  tune !  "  she  echoed,  watching  the  swelling  of 
his  arms  as  he  moved  them,  and  the  rise  and  fall  of 
his  breasts,  wonderfully  solid  and  white.  Then  hav- 
ing curiously  examined  the  sudden  meeting  of  the 
sunhot  skin  with  the  white  flesh  in  his  throat,  her 


DANGLING   THE    APPLE        23 

eyes  met  his,  and  she  turned  again  to  the  piano, 
while  the  colour  grew  in  her  ears,  mercifully  shel- 
tered by  a  profusion  of  bright  curls. 

"  What  shall  I  play  ? "  she  asked,  fingering  the 
keys  somewhat  confusedly. 

He  dragged  out  a  book  of  songs  from  a  little  heap 
of  music,  and  set  it  before  her. 

"  Which  do  you  want  to  sing  ? "  she  asked  thrill- 
ing a  little  as  she  felt  his  arms  so  near  her. 

"  Anything  you  like." 

"  A  love  song  ?  "  she  said. 

"  If  you  like — yes,  a  love  song "  he  laughed 

with  clumsy  insinuation  that  made  the  girl  writhe. 

She  did  not  answer,  but  began  to  play  Sullivan's 
"  Tit  Willow."  He  had  a  passable  bass  voice,  not  of 
any  great  depth,  and  he  sang  with  gusto.  Then  she 
gave  him,  "  Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes."  At 
the  end  she  turned  and  asked  him  if  he  liked  the 
words.  He  replied  that  he  thought  them  rather  daft. 
But  he  looked  at  her  with  glowing  brown  eyes,  as  if 
in  hesitating  challenge. 

"  That's  because  you  have  no  wine  in  your  eyes  to 
pledge  with,"  she  replied,  answering  his  challenge 
with  a  blue  blaze  of  her  eyes.  Then  her  eyelashes 
drooped  on  to  her  cheek.  He  laughed  with  a  faint 
ring  of  consciousness,  and  asked  her  how  could  she 
know. 

"  Because,"  she  said  slowly,  looking  up  at  him  with 
pretended  scorn,  "  because  there's  no  change  in  your 
eyes  when  I  look  at  you.  I  always  think  people  who 
are  worth  much  talk  with  their  eyes.  That's  why 
you  are  forced  to  respect  many  quite  uneducated 
people.      Their  eyes  are  so  eloquent,   and  full  of 


24        THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

knowledge."  She  had  continued  to  look  at  him  as 
she  spoke — watching  his  faint  appreciation  of  her 
upturned  face,  and  her  hair,  where  the  light  was 
always  tangled,  watching  his  brief  self-examination 
to  see  if  he  could  feel  any  truth  in  her  words,  watch- 
ing till  he  broke  into  a  little  laugh  which  was  rather 
more  awkward  and  less  satisfied  than  usual.  Then 
she  turned  away,  smiling  also. 

"  There's  nothing  in  this  book  nice  to  sing,"  she 
said,  turning  over  the  leaves  discontentedly.  I  found 
her  a  volume,  and  she  sang  "  Should  he  upbraid." 
She  had  a  fine  soprano  voice,  and  the  song  delighted 
him.  He  moved  nearer  to  her,  and  when  at  the  fin- 
ish she  looked  round  with  a  flashing,  mischievous  air, 
she  found  him  pledging  her  with  wonderful  eyes. 

"  You  like  that,"  said  she  with  the  air  of  superior 
knowledge,  as  if,  dear  me,  all  one  had  to  do  was  to 
turn  over  to  the  right  page  of  the  vast  volume  of 
one's  soul  to  suit  these  people. 

"  I  do,"  he  answered  emphatically,  thus  acknowl- 
edging her  triumph. 

"  I'd  rather  '  dance  and  sing '  round  *  wrinkled 
care '  than  carefully  shut  the  door  on  him,  while  I 
slept  in  the  chimney  seat — wouldn't  you  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  laughed,  and  began  to  consider  what  she  meant 
before  he  replied. 

"  As  you  do,"  she  added. 

"What?"  he  asked. 

"  Keep  half  your  senses  asleep — half  alive." 

"  Do  I  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Of  course  you  do ; — •  bos-bovis ;  an  ox.'  You  are 
like  a  stalled  ox,  food  and  comfort,  no  more.  Don't 
you  love  comfort  ?  "  she  smiled. 


DANGLING   THE    APPLE        25 

"  Don't  you  \  H  he  replied,  smiling  shamefaced. 

"  Of  course.  Come  and  turn  over  for  me  while 
I  play  this  piece.  Well,  I'll  nod  when  you  must  turn 
— bring  a  chair." 

She  began  to  play  a  romance  of  Schubert's.  He 
leaned  nearer  to  her  to  take  hold  of  the  leaf  of 
music;  she  felt  her  loose  hair  touch  his  face,  and 
turned  to  him  a  quick,  laughing  glance,  while  she 
played.  At  the  end  of  the  page  she  nodded,  but  he 
was  oblivious ;  "  Yes !  "  she  said,  suddenly  impatient, 
and  he  tried  to  get  the  leaf  over ;  she  quickly  pushed 
his  hand  aside,  turned  the  page  herself  and  continued 
playing. 

"  Sorry !  "  said  he,  blushing  actually. 

"  Don't  bother,"  she  said,  continuing  to  play  with- 
out observing  him.    When  she  had  finished: 

"  There !  "  she  said,  "  now  tell  me  how  you  felt 
while  I  was  playing." 

"  Oh — a  fool !  " — he  replied,  covered  with  con- 
fusion. 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  she  said—"  but  I  didn't 
mean  that.  I  meant  how  did  the  music  make  you 
feel?" 

"  I  don't  know — whether — it  made  me  feel  any- 
thing," he  replied  deliberately,  pondering  over  his 
answer,  as  usual. 

"  I  tell  you,"  she  declared,  "  you're  either  asleep 
or  stupid.  Did  you  really  see  nothing  in  the  music  ? 
But  what  did  you  think  about  ? " 

He  laughed — and  thought  awhile — and  laughed 
again. 

"  Why !  "  he  admitted,  laughing,  and  trying  to  tell 
the  exact  truth,  "  I  thought  how  pretty  your  hands 


26         THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

are — and  what  they  are  like  to  touch — and  I  thought 
it  was  a  new  experience  to  feel  somebody's  hair  tick- 
ling my  cheek."  When  he  had  finished  his  delib- 
erate account  she  gave  his  hand  a  little  knock,  and 
left  him  saying: 

"  You  are  worse  and  worse." 

She  came  across  the  room  to  the  couch  where  I 
was  sitting  talking  to  Emily,  and  put  her  arm  around 
my  neck. 

"  Isn't  it  time  to  go  home,  Pat  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Half  past  eight — quite  early,"  said  I. 

"  But  I  believe — I  think  I  ought  to  be  home  now," 
she  said. 

"  Don't  go,"  said  he. 

"Why?"  [Tasked. 

"  Stay  to  supper,"  urged  Emily. 

"  But  I  believe "  she  hesitated. 

"  She  has  another  fish  to  fry,"  I  said. 

"  I  am  not  sure "  she  hesitated  again.     Then 

she  flashed  into  sudden  wrath,  exclaiming,  "  Don't 
be  so  mean  and  nasty,  Cyril !  " 

"  Were  you  going  somewhere  ? "  asked  George 
humbly. 

"  Why — no !  "  she  said,  blushing. 

"  Then  stay  to  supper — will  you  ?  "  he  begged. 
She  laughed,  and  yielded.  We  went  into  the  kitchen. 
Mr.  Saxton  was  sitting  reading.  Trip,  the  big  bull 
terrier,  lay  at  his  feet  pretending  to  sleep;  Mr. 
Nickie  Ben  reposed  calmly  on  the  sofa ;  Mrs.  Saxton 
and  Mollie  were  just  going  to  bed.  We  bade  them 
good-night,  and  sat  down.  Annie,  the  servant,  had 
gone  home,  so  Emily  prepared  the  supper. 

"  Nobody  can  touch  that  piano  like  you,"   said 


DANGLING   THE   APPLE       27 

Mr.  Saxton  to  Lettie,  beaming  upon  her  with  admi- 
ration and  deference.  He  was  proud  of  the  stately, 
mumbling  old  thing,  and  used  to  say  that  it  was  full 
of  music  for  those  that  liked  to  ask  for  it.  Lettie 
laughed,  and  said  that  so  few  folks  ever  tried  it,  that 
her  honour  was  not  great. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  our  George's  singing  ? " 
asked  the  father  proudly,  but  with  a  deprecating 
laugh  at  the  end. 

"  I  tell  him,  when  he's  in  love  he'll  sing  quite 
well,"  she  said. 

"  When  he's  in  love !  "  echoed  the  father,  laughing 
aloud,  very  pleased. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  when  he  finds  out  something  he 
wants  and  can't  have." 

George  thought  about  it,  and  he  laughed  also. 

Emily,  who  was  laying  the  table  said,  "  There  is 
hardly  any  water  in  the  pippin,  George." 

"  Oh,  dash !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  I've  taken  my  boots 
off." 

"  It's  not  a  very  big  job  to  put  them  on  again," 
said  his  sister. 

"  Why  couldn't  Annie  fetch  it — what's  she  here 
for  ?  "  he  said  angrily. 

Emily  looked  at  us,  tossed  her  head,  and  turned 
her  back  on  him. 

"  I'll  go,  I'll  go,  after  supper,"  said  the  father  in  a 
comforting  tone. 

"  After  supper !  "  laughed  Emily. 

George  got  up  and  shuffled  out.  He  had  to  go  into 
the  spinney  near  the  house  to  a  well,  and  being  warm 
disliked  turning  out. 

We  had  just  sat  down  to  supper  when  Trip  rushed 


28        THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

barking  to  the  door.  "  Be  quiet,"  ordered  the  father, 
thinking  of  those  in  bed,  and  he  followed  the  dog. 

It  was  Leslie.  He  wanted  Lettie  to  go  home  with 
him  at  once.  This  she  refused  to  do,  so  he  came 
indoors,  and  was  persuaded  to  sit  down  at  table.  He 
swallowed  a  morsel  of  bread  and  cheese,  and  a  cup 
of  coffee,  talking  to  Lettie  of  a  garden  party  which 
was  going  to  be  arranged  at  Highclose  for  the  follow- 
ing week. 

"  What  is  it  for  then  ?  "  interrupted  Mr.  Saxton. 

"  For  ?  "  echoed  Leslie. 

"  Is  it  for  the  missionaries,  or  the  unemployed,  or 
something  ?  "  explained  Mr.  Saxton. 

"  It's  a  garden-party,  not  a  bazaar,"  said  Leslie. 

"  Oh — a  private  affair.  I  thought  it  would  be 
some  church  matter  of  your  mother's.  She's  very  big 
at  the  church,  isn't  she  I  " 

"  She  is  interested  in  the  church — yes !  "  said  Les- 
lie, then  proceeding  to  explain  to  Lettie  that  he  was 
arranging  a  tennis  tournament  in  which  she  was  to 
take  part.  At  this  point  he  became  aware  that  he 
was  monopolising  the  conversation,  and  turned  to 
George,  just  as  the  latter  was  taking  a  piece  of  cheese 
from  his  knife  with  his  teeth,  asking: 

"  Do  you  play  tennis,  Mr.  Saxton  ? — I  know  Miss 
Saxton  does  not." 

"  No,"  said  George,  working  the  piece  of  cheese 
into  his  cheek.  "  I  never  learned  any  ladies'  accom- 
plishments." 

Leslie  turned  to  Emily,  who  had  nervously  been 
pushing  two  plates  over  a  stain  in  the  cloth,  and  who 
was  very  startled  when  she  found  herself  ad- 
dressed. 


DANGLING   THE   APPLE        29 

"  My  mother  would  be  so  glad  if  you  would  come 
to  the  party,  Miss  Saxton." 

"  I  cannot.  I  shall  be  at  school.  Thanks  very 
much." 

"  Ah — it's  very  good  of  you,"  said  the  father, 
beaming.     But  George  smiled  contemptuously. 

When  supper  was  over  Leslie  looked  at  Lettie  to 
inform  her  that  he  was  ready  to  go.  She,  however, 
refused  to  see  his  look,  but  talked  brightly  to  Mr. 
Saxton,  who  was  delighted.  George,  nattered,  joined 
in  the  talk  with  gusto.  Then  Leslie's  angry  silence 
began  to  tell  on  us  all.  After  a  dull  lapse,  George 
lifted  his  head  and  said  to  his  father : 

"  Oh,  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  that  little  red 
heifer  calved  to-night." 

Lettie's  eyes  flashed  with  a  sparkle  of  amusement 
at  this  thrust. 

"  No,"  assented  the  father,  "  I  thought  so  my- 
self." 

After  a  moment's  silence,  George  continued  delib- 
erately, "  I  felt  her  gristles " 

"  George !  "  said  Emily  sharply. 

"  We  will  go,"  said  Leslie. 

George  looked  up  sideways  at  Lettie  and  his  black 
eyes  were  full  of  sardonic  mischief. 

"  Lend  me  a  shawl,  will  you,  Emily  ? "  said  Let- 
tie.  "  I  brought  nothing,  and  I  think  the  wind  is 
cold." 

Emily,  however,  regretted  that  she  had  no  shawl, 
and  so  Lettie  must  needs  wear  a  black  coat  over  her 
summer  dress.  It  fitted  so  absurdly  that  we  all 
laughed,  but  Leslie  was  very  angry  that  she  should 
appear  ludicrous  before  them.     He  showed  her  all 


30         THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

the  polite  attentions  possible,  fastened  the  neck  of  her 
coat  with  his  pearl  scarf-pin,  refusing  the  pin  Emily 
discovered,  after  some  search.    Then  we  sallied  forth. 

When  we  were  outside,  he  offered  Lettie  his  arm 
with  an  air  of  injured  dignity.  She  refused  it  and 
he  began  to  remonstrate. 

"  I  consider  you  ought  to  have  been  home  as  you 
promised." 

"  Pardon  me,"  she  replied,  "  but  I  did  not  prom- 
ise." 

"  But  you  knew  I  was  coming,"  said  he. 

"  Well — you  found  me,"  she  retorted. 

"  Yes,"  he  assented.  "  I  did  find  you ;  flirting 
with  a  common  fellow,"  he  sneered. 

"  Well,"  she  returned.  "  He  did — it  is  true — call 
a  heifer,  a  heifer." 

"  And  I  should  think  you  liked  it,"  he  said. 

"  I  didn't  mind,"  she  said,  with  galling  negligence. 

"  I  thought  your  taste  was  more  refined,"  he  re- 
plied, sarcastically.  "  But  I  suppose  you  thought  it 
romantic." 

"  Very !  Kuddy,  dark,  and  really  thrilling  eyes," 
said  she. 

"  I  hate  to  hear  a  girl  talk  rot,"  said  Leslie.  He 
himself  had  crisp  hair  of  the  "  ginger  "  class. 

"  But  I  mean  it,"  she  insisted,  aggravating  his 
anger. 

Leslie  was  angry.    "  I'm  glad  he  amuses  you !  " 

"  Of  course,  I'm  not  hard  to  please,"  she  said 
pointedly.     He  was  stung  to  the  quick. 

"  Then  there's  some  comfort  in  knowing  I  don't 
please  you,"  he  said  coldly. 

"  Oh !  but  you  do !    You  amuse  me  also,"  she  said. 


DANGLING   THE   APPLE        31 

After  that  he  would  not  speak,  preferring,  I  sup- 
pose, not  to  amuse  her. 

Lettie  took  my  arm,  and  with  her  disengaged  hand 
held  her  skirts  above  the  wet  grass.  When  he  had 
left  us  at  the  end  of  the  riding  in  the  wood,  Lettie 
said: 

"  What  an  infant  he  is !  " 

"  A  bit  of  an  ass,"  I  admitted. 

"  But  really !  "  she  said,  "  he's  more  agreeable  on 
the  whole  than — than  my  Taurus." 

"  Your  bull !  "  I  repeated  laughing. 


CHAPTER   III 

A   VENDOR    OF    VISIONS 

The  Sunday  following  Lettie's  visit  to  the  mill,  Les- 
lie came  up  in  the  morning,  admirably  dressed,  and 
perfected  by  a  grand  air.  I  showed  him  into  the 
dark  drawing-room,  and  left  him.  Ordinarily  he 
would  have  wandered  to  the  stairs,  and  sat  there  call- 
ing to  Lettie;  to-day  he  was  silent.  I  carried  the 
news  of  his  arrival  to  my  sister,  who  was  pinning  on 
her  brooch. 

"  And  how  is  the  dear  boy  ? "  she  asked. 

"  I  have  not  inquired,''  said  I. 

She  laughed,  and  loitered  about  till  it  was  time  to 
set  off  for  church  before  she  came  downstairs.  Then 
she  also  assumed  the  grand  air  and  bowed  to  him 
with  a  beautiful  bow.  He  was  somewhat  taken  aback 
and  had  nothing  to  say.  She  rustled  across  the  room 
to  the  window,  where  the  white  geraniums  grew 
magnificently.     "  I  must  adorn  myself,"  she  said. 

It  was  Leslie's  custom  to  bring  her  flowers.  As 
he  had  not  done  so  this  day,  she  was  piqued.  He 
hated  the  scent  and  chalky  whiteness  of  the  gera- 
niums. So  she  smiled  at  him  as  she  pinned  them 
into  the  bosom  of  her  dress,  saying: 

"  They  are  very  fine,  are  they  not  ?  " 

He  muttered  that  they  were.  Mother  came  down- 
stairs, greeted  him  warmly,  and  asked  him  if  he 
would  take  her  to  church. 


A   VENDOR   OF    VISIONS        33 

"  If  you  will  allow  me/'  said  he. 

"  You  are  modest  to-day,"  laughed  mother. 

"  To-day !  "  he  repeated. 

"  I  hate  modesty  in  a  young  man,"  said  mother — 
"  Come,  we  shall  he  late."  Lettie  wore  the  gera- 
niums all  day — till  evening.  She  brought  Alice  Gall 
home  to  tea,  and  bade  me  bring  up  "  Mon  Taureau," 
when  his  farm  work  was  over. 

The  day  had  been  hot  and  close.  The  sun  was 
reddening  in  the  west  as  we  leaped  across  the  lesser 
brook.  The  evening  scents  began  to  awake,  and  wan- 
der unseen  through  the  still  air.  An  occasional  yel- 
low sunbeam  would  slant  through  the  thick  roof  of 
leaves  and  cling  passionately  to  the  orange  clusters 
of  mountain-ash  berries.  The  trees  were  silent, 
drawing  together  to  sleep.  Only  a  few  pink  orchids 
stood  palely  by  the  path,  looking  wistfully  out  at  the 
ranks  of  red-purple  bugle,  whose  last  flowers,  glow- 
ing from  the  top  of  the  bronze  column,  yearned 
darkly  for  the  sun. 

We  sauntered  on  in  silence,  not  breaking  the  first 
hush  of  the  woodlands.  As  we  drew  near  home  we 
heard  a  murmur  from  among  the  trees,  from  the  lov- 
er's seat,  where  a  great  tree  had  fallen  and  remained 
mossed  and  covered  with  fragile  growth.  There  a 
crooked  bough  made  a  beautiful  seat  for  two. 

"  Fancy  being  in  love  and  making  a  row  in  such 
a  twilight,"  said  I  as  we  continued  our  way.  But 
when  we  came  opposite  the  fallen  tree,  we  saw  no 
lovers  there,  but  a  man  sleeping,  and  muttering 
through  his  sleep.  The  cap  had  fallen  from  his 
grizzled  hair,  and  his  head  leaned  back  against  a  pro- 
fusion of  the  little  wild  geraniums  that  decorated  the 


34         THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

dead  bough  so  delicately.  The  man's  clothing  was 
good,  but  slovenly  and  neglected.  His  face  was  pale 
and  worn  with  sickness  and  dissipation.  As  he 
slept,  his  grey  beard  wagged,  and  his  loose  unlovely 
mouth  moved  in  indistinct  speech.  He  was  acting 
over  again  some  part  of  his  life,  and  his  features 
twitched  during  the  unnatural  sleep.  He  would  give 
a  little  groan,  gruesome  to  hear  and  then  talk  to  some 
woman.  His  features  twitched  as  if  with  pain,  and 
he  moaned  slightly. 

The  lips  opened  in  a  grimace  showing  the  yellow 
teeth  behind  the  beard.  Then  he  began  again  talk- 
ing in  his  throat,  thickly,  so  that  we  could  only  tell 
part  of  what  he  said.  It  was  very  unpleasant.  I 
wondered  how  we  should  end  it.  Suddenly  through 
the  gloom  of  the  twilight-haunted  woods  came  the 
scream  of  a  rabbit  caught  by  a  weasel.  The  man 
awoke  with  a  sharp  "  Ah !  " — he  looked  round  in 
consternation,  then  sinking  down  again  wearily,  said, 
"  I  was  dreaming  again." 

"  You  don't  seem  to  have  nice  dreams,"  said 
George. 

The  man  winced,  then  looking  at  us  said,  almost 
sneering : 

"  And  who  are  you  ? " 

We  did  not  answer,  but  waited  for  him  to  move. 
He  sat  still,  looking  at  us. 

"  So !  "  he  said  at  last,  wearily,  "  I  do  dream.  I 
do,  I  do."  He  sighed  heavily.  Then  he  added,  sar- 
castically :  "  Were  you  interested  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  I.  "  But  you  are  out  of  your  way 
surely.    Which  road  did  you  want  ?  " 

"  You  want  me  to  clear  out,"  he  said. 


A   VENDOR   OF   VISIONS        35 

"  Well,"  I  said  laughing  in  deprecation.  "  I  don't 
mind  your  dreaming.  But  this  is  not  the  way  to 
anywhere." 

"  Where  may  you  be  going  then  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  ?    Home,"  I  replied  with  dignity. 

"  You  are  a  Beardsall  ? "  he  queried,  eyeing  me 
with  bloodshot  eyes. 

"  I  am !  "  I  replied  with  more  dignity,  wondering 
who  the  fellow  could  be. 

He  sat  a  few  moments  looking  at  me.  It  was  get- 
ting dark  in  the  wood.  Then  he  took  up  an  ebony 
stick  with  a  gold  head,  and  rose.  The  stick  seemed 
to  catch  at  my  imagination.  I  watched  it  curiously 
as  we  walked  with  the  old  man  along  the  path  to 
the  gate.  We  went  with  him  into  the  open  road. 
When  we  reached  the  clear  sky  where  the  light  from 
the  west  fell  full  on  our  faces,  he  turned  again  and 
looked  at  us  closely.  His  mouth  opened  sharply,  as 
if  he  would  speak,  but  he  stopped  himself,  and  only 
said  "  Good-bye — Good-bye." 

"  Shall  you  be  all  right  ? "  I  asked,  seeing  him 
totter. 

"  Yes — all  right — good-bye,  lad." 

He  walked  away  feebly  into  the  darkness.  We 
saw  the  lights  of  a  vehicle  on  the  high-road :  after  a 
while  we  heard  the  bang  of  a  door,  and  a  cab  rattled 
away. 

"  Well — whoever*  s  he  ?  "  said  George  laughing. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  I,  "  it's  made  me  feel  a  bit 
rotten." 

"  Ay  ?  "  he  laughed,  turning  up  the  end  of  the  ex- 
clamation with  indulgent  surprise. 

We  went  back  home,  deciding  to  say  nothing  to 


36        THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

the  women.  They  were  sitting  in  the  window  seat 
watching  for  us,  mother  and  Alice  and  Lettie. 

"  You  have  been  a  long  time ! "  said  Lettie. 
u  We've  watched  the  sun  go  down — it  set  splendidly 
— look — the  rim  of  the  hill  is  smouldering  yet. 
What  have  you  been  doing  ?  " 

"  Waiting  till  your  Taurus  finished  work." 

"  Now  be  quiet,"  she  said  hastily,  and — turning 
to  him,  "  You  have  come  to  sing  hymns  \  " 

"  Anything  you  like,"  he  replied. 

"  How  nice  of  you,  George !  "  exclaimed  Alice, 
ironically.  She  was  a  short,  plump  girl,  pale,  with 
daring,  rebellious  eyes.  Her  mother  was  a  Wyld,  a 
family  famous  either  for  shocking  lawlessness,  or  for 
extreme  uprightness.  Alice,  with  an  admirable 
father,  and  a  mother  who  loved  her  husband  pas- 
sionately, was  wild  and  lawless  on  the  surface,  but 
at  heart  very  upright  and  amenable.  My  mother  and 
she  were  fast  friends,  and  Lettie  had  a  good  deal  of 
sympathy  with  her.  But  Lettie  generally  deplored 
Alice's  outrageous  behaviour,  though  she  relished  it 
— if  "  superior "  friends  were  not  present.  Most 
men  enjoyed  Alice  in  company,  but  they  fought  shy 
of  being  alone  with  her. 

"  Would  you  say  the  same  to  me  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  It  depends  what  you'd  answer,"  he  said,  laugh- 
ingly. 

"  Oh,  you're  so  bloomin'  cautious.  I'd  rather  have 
a  tack  in  my  shoe  than  a  cautious  man,  wouldn't 
you  Lettie  ? " 

"  Well — it  depends  how  far  I  had  to  walk," 
was  Lettie's  reply — "  but  if  I  hadn't  to  limp  too 
far " 


A   VENDOR   OF   VISIONS        37 

Alice  turned  away  from  Lettie,  whom  she  often 
found  rather  irritating. 

"  You  do  look  glum,  Sybil,"  she  said  to  me,  "  did 
somebody  want  to  kiss  you  ? " 

I  laughed — on  the  wrong  side,  understanding  her 
malicious  feminine  reference — and  answered: 

"  If  they  had,  I  should  have  looked  happy." 

"  Dear  boy,  smile  now  then," — and  she  tipped  me 
under  the  chin.     I  drew  away. 

"  Oh,  Gum — we  are  solemn !  What's  the  matter 
with  you  ?  Georgy — say  something — else  I's'll  begin 
to  feel  nervous." 

"  What  shall  I  say  ? "  he  asked,  shifting  his  feet 
and  resting  his  elbows  on  his  knees.  "  Oh,  Lor !  "  she 
cried  in  great  impatience.  He  did  not  help  her,  but 
sat  clasping  his  hands,  smiling  on  one  side  of  his 
face.  He  was  nervous.  He  looked  at  the  pictures, 
the  ornaments,  and  everything  in  the  room;  Lettie 
got  up  to  settle  some  flowers  on  the  mantel-piece,  and 
he  scrutinised  her  closely.  She  was  dressed  in  some 
blue  foulard  stuff,  with  lace  at  the  throat,  and  lace 
cuffs  to  the  elbow.  She  was  tall  and  supple ;  her  hair 
had  a  curling  fluffiness  very  charming.  He  was  no 
taller  than  she,  and  looked  shorter,  being  strongly 
built.  He  too  had  a  grace  of  his  own,  but  not  as  he 
sat  stiffly  on  a  horse-hair  chair.  She  was  elegant  in 
her  movements. 

After  a  little  while  mother  called  us  in  to  supper. 

"  Come,"  said  Lettie  to  him,  "  take  me  in  to  sup- 
per." 

He  rose,  feeling  very  awkward. 

"  Give  me  your  arm,"  said  she  to  tease  him.  He 
did  so,   and  flushed  under  his   tan,   afraid  of  her 


38        THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

round  arm  half  hidden  by  lace,  which  lay  among  his 
sleeve. 

When  we  were  seated  she  flourished  her  spoon  and 
asked  him  what  he  would  have.  He  hesitated,  looked 
at  the  strange  dishes  and  said  he  would  have  some 
cheese.  They  insisted  on  his  eating  new,  complicated 
meats. 

"I'm  sure  you  like  tantafflins,  don't  you  Georgie  ?" 
said  Alice,  in  her  mocking  fashion.  He  was  not 
sure.  He  could  not  analyse  the  flavours,  he  felt  con- 
fused and  bewildered  even  through  his  sense  of  taste ! 
Alice  begged  him  to  have  salad. 

"  No,  thanks,"  said  he.     "  I  don't  like  it." 

"  Oh,  George !  "  she  said,  "  How  can  you  say  so 
when  I'm  offering  it  you." 

"  Well — I've  only  had  it  once,"  said  he,  "  and  that 
was  when  I  was  working  with  Flint,  and  he  gave  us 
fat  bacon  and  bits  of  lettuce  soaked  in  vinegar — 
'  'Ave  a  bit  more  salit,'  he  kept  saying,  but  I'd  had 
enough." 

"  But  all  our  lettuce,"  said  Alice  with  a  wink,  "  is 
as  sweet  as  a  nut,  no  vinegar  about  our  lettuce." 
George  laughed  in  much  confusion  at  her  pun  on  my 
sister's  name. 

"  I  believe  you,"  he  said,  with  pompous  gallantry. 

"Think  of  that!"  cried  Alice.  "Our  Georgie 
believes  me.     Oh,  I  am  so,  so  pleased !  " 

He  smiled  painfully.  His  hand  was  resting  on 
the  table,  the  thumb  tucked  tight  under  the  fingers, 
his  knuckles  white  as  he  nervously  gripped  his 
thumb.  At  last  supper  was  finished,  and  he  picked 
up  his  serviette  from  the  floor  and  began  to  fold  it. 
Lettie  also  seemed  ill  at  ease.     She  had  teased  him 


A   VENDOR   OF   VISIONS       39 

till  the  sense  of  his  awkwardness  had  become  uncom- 
fortable. Now  she  felt  sorry,  and  a  trifle  repentant, 
so  she  went  to  the  piano,  as  she  always  did  to  dispel 
her  moods.  When  she  was  angry  she  played  tender 
fragments  of  Tschai'kowsky,  when  she  was  miserable, 
Mozart.  Now  she  played  Handel  in  a  manner  that 
suggested  the  plains  of  heaven  in  the  long  notes,  and 
in  the  little  trills  as  if  she  were  waltzing  up  the 
ladder  of  Jacob's  dream  like  the  damsels  in  Blake's 
pictures.  I  often  told  her  she  flattered  herself  scan- 
dalously through  the  piano;  but  generally  she  pre- 
tended not  to  understand  me,  and  occasionally  she 
surprised  me  by  a  sudden  rush  of  tears  to  her 
eyes.  For  George's  sake,  she  played  Gounod's  "  Ave 
Maria,"  knowing  that  the  sentiment  of  the  chant 
would  appeal  to  him,  and  make  him  sad,  forgetful  of 
the  petty  evils  of  this  life.  I  smiled  as  I  watched  the 
cheap  spell  working.  When  she  had  finished,  her 
fingers  lay  motionless  for  a  minute  on  the  keys,  then 
she  spun  round,  and  looked  him  straight  in  the  eyes, 
giving  promise  of  a  smile.  But  she  glanced  down  at 
her  knee. 

"  You  are  tired  of  music,"  she  said. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  shaking  his  head. 

"  Like  it  better  than  salad  ? "  she  asked  with  a 
flash  of  raillery. 

He  looked  up  at  her  with  a  sudden  smile,  but  did 
not  reply.  He  was  not  handsome ;  his  features  were 
too  often  in  a  heavy  repose;  but  when  he  looked  up 
and  smiled  unexpectedly,  he  flooded  her  with  an 
access  of  tenderness. 

"  Then  you'll  have  a  little  more,"  said  she,  and 
she  turned  again  to  the  piano.    She  played  soft,  wist- 


40         THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

ful  morsels,  then  suddenly  broke  off  in  the  midst  of 
one  sentimental  plaint,  and  left  the  piano,  dropping 
into  a  l6w  chair  by  the  fire.  There  she  sat  and  looked 
at  him.  He  was  conscious  that  her  eyes  were  fixed 
on  him,  but  he  dared  not  look  back  at  her,  so  he 
pulled  his  moustache. 

"  You  are  only  a  boy,  after  all,"  she  said  to  him 
quietly.     Then  he  turned  and  asked  her  why. 

"  It  is  a  boy  that  you  are,"  she  repeated,  leaning 
back  in  her  chair,  and  smiling  lazily  at  him. 

"  I  never  thought  so,"  he  replied  seriously. 

"  Really  ?  "  she  said,  chuckling. 

"  No,"  said  he,  trying  to  recall  his  previous  im- 
pressions. 

She  laughed  heartily,  saying: 

"  You're  growing  up." 

"How?"  he  asked. 

"  Growing  up,"  she  repeated,  still  laughing. 

"  But  I'm  sure  I  was  never  boyish,"  said  he. 

"  I'm  teaching  you,"  said  she,  "  and  when  you're 
boyish  you'll  be  a  very  decent  man.  A  mere  man 
daren't  be  a  boy  for  fear  of  tumbling  off  his  manly 
dignity,  and  then  he'd  be  a  fool,  poor  thing." 

He  laughed,  and  sat  still  to  think  about  it,  as  was 
his  way. 

"  Do  you  like  pictures  ? "  she  asked  suddenly, 
being  tired  of  looking  at  him. 

"  Better  than  anything,"  he  replied. 

"  Except  dinner,  and  a  warm  hearth  and  a  lazy 
evening,"  she  said. 

He  looked  at  her  suddenly,  hardening  at  her  insult, 
and  biting  his  lips  at  the  taste  of  this  humiliation. 
She  repented,  and  smiled  her  plaintive  regret  to  him. 


A  VENDOR   OF   VISIONS       41 

"  I'll  show  you  some,"  she  said,  rising  and  going 
out  of  the  room.  He  felt  he  was  nearer  her.  She 
returned,  carrying  a  pile  of  great  books. 

"  Jove — you're  pretty  strong !  "  said  he. 

"  You  are  charming  in  your  compliment,"  she 
said. 

He  glanced  at  her  to  see  if  she  were  mocking. 

"  That's  the  highest  you  could  say  of  me,  isn't 
it  ?  "  she  insisted. 

"  Is  it  ? "  he  asked,  unwilling  to  compromise  him- 
self. 

"  For  sure,"  she  answered — and  then,  laying  the 
books  on  the  table,  "  I  know  how  a  man  will  com- 
pliment me  by  the  way  he  looks  at  me  " — she  kneeled 
before  the  fire.  "  Some  look  at  my  hair,  some  watch 
the  rise  and  fall  of  my  breathing,  some  look  at  my 
neck,  and  a  few, — not  you  among  them, — look  me 
in  the  eyes  for  my  thoughts.  To  you,  I'm  a  fine 
specimen,  strong!  Pretty  strong!  You  primitive 
man!" 

He  sat  twisting  his  fingers ;  she  was  very  contrary. 

"  Bring  your  chair  up,"  she  said,  sitting  down  at 
the  table  and  opening  a  book.  She  talked  to  him  of 
each  picture,  insisting  on  hearing  his  opinion.  Some- 
times he  disagreed  with  her  and  would  not  be  per- 
suaded.   At  such  times  she  was  piqued. 

"  If,"  said  she,  "  an  ancient  Briton  in  his  skins 
came  and  contradicted  me  as  you  do,  wouldn't  you 
tell  him  not  to  make  an  ass  of  himself  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  he. 

"  Then  you  ought  to,"  she  replied.  "  You  know 
nothing." 

"  How  is  it  you  ask  me  then  ? "  he  said. 


42        THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

She  began  to  laugh. 

"  Why — that's  a  pertinent  question.  I  think  you 
might  be  rather  nice,  you  know." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  smiling  ironically. 

"  Oh !  "  she  said.  "  I  know,  you  think  you're  per- 
fect, but  you're  not,  you're  very  annoying." 

"  Yes,"  exclaimed  Alice,  who  had  entered  the 
room  again,  dressed  ready  to  depart.  "  He's  so 
blooming  slow!  Great  whizz!  Who  wants  fellows 
to  carry  cold  dinners  ?  Shouldn't  you  like  to  shake 
him  Lettie  ? " 

"  I  don't  feel  concerned  enough,"  replied  the  other, 
calmly. 

"  Did  you  ever  carry  a  boiled  pudding  Georgy  ?  " 
asked   Alice   with   innocent   interest,   punching   me 

slyly. 

"  Me ! — why  ? — what  makes  you  ask  ?  "  he  replied, 
quite  at  a  loss. 

"  Oh,  I  only  wondered  if  your  people  needed 
any  indigestion  mixture — pa  mixes  it — 1/1  \  a 
bottle." 

"  I  don't  see "  he  began. 

"  Ta — ta,  old  boy,  I'll  give  you  time  to  think  about 
it.  Good-night,  Lettie.  Absence  makes  the  heart 
grow  fonder — Georgy — of  someone  else.  Farewell. 
Come  along,  Sybil  love,  the  moon  is  shining — Good- 
night all,  good-night !  " 

I  escorted  her  home,  while  they  continued  to  look 
at  the  pictures.  He  was  a  romanticist.  He  liked 
Copley,  Fielding,  Cattermole  and  Birket  Foster;  he 
could  see  nothing  whatsoever  in  Girtin  or  David  Cox. 
They  fell  out  decidedly  over  George  Clausen. 

"  But,"  said  Lettie,  "  he  is  a  real  realist,  he  makes 


A   VENDOR   OF   VISIONS        43 

common  things  beautiful,  he  sees  the  mystery  and 
magnificence  that  envelops  us  even  when  we  work 
menially.    I  do  know  and  I  can  speak.    If  I  hoed  in 

the  fields  beside  you "     This  was  a  very  new 

idea  for  him,  almost  a  shock  to  his  imagination,  and 
she  talked  unheeded.  The  picture  under  discussion 
was  a  water  colour — "  Hoeing  "  by  Clausen. 

"  You'd  be  just  that  colour  in  the  sunset,"  she 
said,  thus  bringing  him  back  to  the  subject,  "  and  if 
you  looked  at  the  ground  you'd  find  there  was  a  sense 
of  warm  gold  fire  in  it,  and  once  you'd  perceived  the 
colour,  it  would  strengthen  till  you'd  see  nothing  else. 
You  are  blind ;  you  are  only  half -born ;  you  are  gross 
with  good  living  and  heavy  sleeping.  You  are  a 
piano  which  will  only  play  a  dozen  common  notes. 
Sunset  is  nothing  to  you — it  merely  happens  any- 
where. Oh,  but  you  make  me  feel  as  if  I'd  like  to 
make  you  suffer.  If  you'd  ever  been  sick;  if  you'd 
ever  been  born  into  a  home  where  there  was  some- 
thing oppressed  you,  and  you  couldn't  understand; 
if  ever  you'd  believed,  or  even  doubted,  you  might 
have  been  a  man  by  now.  You  never  grow  up,  like 
bulbs  which  spend  all  summer  getting  fat  and  fleshy, 
but  never  wakening  the  germ  of  a  flower.  As  for  me, 
the  flower  is  born  in  me,  but  it  wants  bringing  forth. 
Things  don't  flower  if  they're  overfed.  You  have  to 
suffer  before  you  blossom  in  this  life.  When  death 
is  just  touching  a  plant,  it  forces  it  into  a  passion  of 
flowering.  You  wonder  how  I  have  touched  death. 
You  don't  know.  There's  aways  a  sense  of  death  in 
this  home.  I  believe  my  mother  hated  my  father 
before  I  was  born.  That  was  death  in  her  veins  for 
me  before  I  was  born.     It  makes  a  difference " 


44         THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

As  he  sat  listening,  his  eyes  grew  wide  and  his 
lips  were  parted,  like  a  child  who  feels  the  tale  but 
does  not  understand  the  words.  She,  looking  away 
from  herself  at  last,  saw  him,  began  to  laugh  gently, 
and  patted  his  hand  saying: 

"  Oh !  my  dear  heart,  are  you  bewildered  ?  How 
amiable  of  you  to  listen  to  me — there  isn't  any  mean- 
ing in  it  all — there  isn't  really !  " 

"  But,"  said  he,  "  why  do  you  say  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  question !  "  she  laughed.  "  Let  us  go 
back  to  our  muttons,  we're  gazing  at  each  other  like 
two  dazed  images." 

They  turned  on,  chatting  casually,  till  George  sud- 
denly exclaimed,  "  There !  " 

It  was  Maurice  Grifhnhagen's  "  Idyll." 

"  What  of  it  ? "  she  asked,  gradually  flushing. 
She  remembered  her  own  enthusiasm  over  the  pic- 
ture. 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  fine  ? "  he  exclaimed,  looking  at 
her  with  glowing  eyes,  his  teeth  showing  white  in  a 
smile  that  was  not  amusement. 

"  What  ? "  she  asked,  dropping  her  head  in  con- 
fusion. 

"  That — a  girl  like  that — half  afraid — and  pas- 
sion !  "     He  lit  up  curiously. 

"  She  may  well  be  half  afraid,  when  the  barbarian 
comes  out  in  his  glory,  skins  and  all." 

"  But  don't  you  like  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders,  saying,  "  Make  love 
to  the  next  girl  you  meet,  and  by  the  time  the  pop- 
pies redden  the  field,  she'll  hang  in  your  arms. 
She'll  have  need  to  be  more  than  half  afraid,  won't 
she?" 


A   VENDOR   OF    VISIONS        45 

She  played  with  the  leaves  of  the  book,  and  did 
not  look  at  him. 

"  But,"  he  faltered,  his  eyes  glowing,  "  it  would  be 
— rather " 

"  Don't,  sweet  lad,  don't !  "  she  cried  laughing. 

"  But  I  shouldn't " — he  insisted,  "  I  don't  know 
whether  I  should  like  any  girl  I  know  to " 

"  Precious  Sir  Galahad,"  she  said  in  a  mock  ca- 
ressing voice,  and  stroking  his  cheek  with  her  finger, 
"  You  ought  to  have  been  a  monk — a  martyr,  a  Car- 
thusian." 

He  laughed,  taking  no  notice.  He  was  breath- 
lessly quivering  under  the  new  sensation  of  heavy, 
unappeased  fire  in  his  breast,  and  in  the  muscles  of 
his  arms.     He  glanced  at  her  bosom  and  shivered. 

"  Are  you  studying  just  how  to  play  the  part  %  " 
she  asked. 

"  No — but "  he  tried  to  look  at  her,  but  failed. 

He  shrank,  laughing,  and  dropped  his  head. 

"  What  ?  "  she  asked  with  vibrant  curiosity. 

Having  become  a  few  degrees  calmer,  he  looked  up 
at  her  now,  his  eyes  wide  and  vivid  with  a  declara- 
tion that  made  her  shrink  back  as  if  flame  had  leaped 
towards  her  face.  She  bent  down  her  head,  and 
picked  at  her  dress. 

"  Didn't  you  know  the  picture  before  ? "  she  said, 
in  a  low,  toneless  voice. 

He  shut  his  eyes  and  shrank  with  shame. 

"  No,  I've  never  seen  it  before,"  he  said. 

"  I'm  surprised,"  she  said.  "  It  is  a  very  com- 
mon one." 

"  Is  it  ? "  he  answered,  and  this  make-belief  con- 
versation fell.     She  looked  up,  and  found  his  eyes. 


46        THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

They  gazed  at  each  other  for  a  moment  before  they 
hid  their  faces  again.  It  was  a  torture  to  each  of 
them  to  look  thus  nakedly  at  the  other,  a  dazzled, 
shrinking  pain  that  they  forced  themselves  to  un- 
dergo for  a  moment,  that  they  might  the  moment 
after  tremble  with  a  fierce  sensation  that  filled  their 
veins  with  fluid,  fiery  electricity.  She  sought  almost 
in  panic,  for  something  to  say. 

"  I  believe  it's  in  Liverpool,  the  picture,"  she  con- 
trived to  say. 

He  dared  not  kill  this  conversation,  he  was  too 
self-conscious.  He  forced  himself  to  reply,  "  I  didn't 
know  there  was  a  gallery  in  Liverpool." 

"  Oh,  yes,  a  very  good  one,"  she  said. 

Their  eyes  met  in  the  briefest  flash  of  a  glance, 
then  both  turned  their  faces  aside.  Thus  averted, 
one  from  the  other,  they  made  talk.  At  last  she  rose, 
gathered  the  books  together,  and  carried  them  off. 
At  the  door  she  turned.  She  must  steal  another  keen 
moment :  "  Are  you  admiring  my  strength  % "  she 
asked.  Her  pose  was  fine.  With  her  head  thrown 
back,  the  roundness  of  her  throat  ran  finely  down  to 
the  bosom  which  swelled  above  the  pile  of  books,  held 
by  her  straight  arms.  He  looked  at  her.  Their  lips 
smiled  curiously.  She  put  back  her  throat  as  if  she 
were  drinking.  They  felt  the  blood  beating  mad- 
ly in  their  necks.  Then,  suddenly  breaking  into 
a  slight  trembling,  she  turned  round  and  left  the 
room. 

While  she  was  out,  he  sat  twisting  his  moustache. 
She  came  back  along  the  hall  talking  madly  to  her- 
self in  French.  Having  been  much  impressed  by 
Sarah    Bernhardt' s    "  Dame    aux    Camelias "    and 


A   VENDOR   OF   VISIONS       47 

"  Adrienne  Lecouvreur,"  Lettie  had  caught  some- 
thing of  the  weird  tone  of  this  great  actress,  and  her 
raillery  and  mockery  came  out  in  little  wild  waves. 
She  laughed  at  him,  and  at  herself,  and  at  men  in 
general,  and  at  love  in  particular.  Whatever  he  said 
to  her,  she  answered  in  the  same  mad  clatter  of 
French,  speaking  high  and  harshly.  The  sound  was 
strange  and  uncomfortable.  There  was  a  painful 
perplexity  in  his  brow,  such  as  I  often  perceived 
afterwards,  a  sense  of  something  hurting,  something 
he  could  not  understand. 

"  Well,  well,  well,  well !  "  she  exclaimed  at  last. 
"  We  must  be  mad  sometimes,  or  we  should  be  get- 
ting aged,  Hein  ? " 

"  I  wish  I  could  understand,"  he  said  plaintively. 

"  Poor  dear !  "  she  laughed.  "  How  sober  he  is ! 
And  will  you  really  go  ?  They  will  think  we've  given 
you  no  supper,  you  look  so  sad." 

"  I  have  supped — full "  he  began,  his  eyes 

dancing  with  a  smile  as  he  ventured  upon  a  quota- 
tion.    He  was  very  much  excited. 

"  Of  horrors !  "  she  cried  completing  it.  "  Now 
that  is  worse  than  anything  I  have  given  you." 

"  Is  it?"  he  replied,  and  they  smiled  at  each  other. 

"  Far  worse,"  she  answered.  They  waited  in  sus- 
pense for  some  moments.    He  looked  at  her. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand.  Her 
voice  was  full  of  insurgent  tenderness.  He  looked 
at  her  again,  his  eyes  nickering.  Then  he  took  her 
hand.  She  pressed  his  fingers,  holding  them  a  little 
while.  Then  ashamed  of  her  display  of  feeling,  she 
looked  down.     He  had  a  deep  cut  across  his  thumb. 

"  What  a  gash !  "  she  exclaimed,  shivering,  and 


48         THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

clinging  a  little  tighter  to  his  fingers  before  she  re- 
leased them.     He  gave  a  little  laugh. 

"  Does  it  hurt  you  ?  "  she  asked  very  gently. 

He  laughed  again — "  No !  "  he  said  softly,  as  if 
his  thumb  were  not  worthy  of  consideration. 

They  smiled  again  at  each  other,  and,  with  a  blind 
movement,  he  broke  the  spell  and  was  gone. 


CHAPTEK  IV 


THE    FATHER 


Autumn"  set  in,  and  the  red  dahlias  which  kept  the 
warm  light  alive  in  their  bosoms  so  late  into  the 
evening  died  in  the  night,  and  the  morning  had  noth- 
ing but  brown  balls  of  rottenness  to  show. 

They  called  me  as  I  passed  the  post-office  door  in 
Eberwich  one  evening,  and  they  gave  me  a  letter  for 
my  mother.  The  distorted,  sprawling  handwriting 
perplexed  me  with  a  dim  uneasiness ;  I  put  the  letter 
away,  and  forgot  it.  I  remembered  it  later  in  the 
evening,  when  I  wished  to  recall  something  to  in- 
terest my  mother.  She  looked  at  the  handwriting, 
and  began  hastily  and  nervously  to  tear  open  the  en- 
velope ;  she  held  it  away  from  her  in  the  light  of  the 
lamp,  and  with  eyes  drawn  half  closed,  tried  to  scan 
it.  So  I  found  her  spectacles,  but  she  did  not  speak 
her  thanks,  and  her  hand  trembled.  She  read  the 
short  letter  quickly ;  then  she  sat  down,  and  read  it 
again,  and  continued  to  look  at  it. 

"  What  is  it  mother  I  "  I  asked. 

She  did  not  answer,  but  continued  staring  at  the 
letter.  I  went  up  to  her,  and  put  my  hand  on  her 
shoulder,  feeling  very  uncomfortable.  She  took  no 
notice  of  me,  beginning  to  murmur :  "  Poor  Frank — 
Poor  Prank."    That  was  my  father's  name. 

"  But  what  is  it  mother  % — tell  me  what's  the  mat- 
ter!" 

49 


50        THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

She  turned  and  looked  at  me  as  if  I  were  a 
stranger;  she  got  up,  and  began  to  walk  about  the 
room ;  then  she  left  the  room,  and  I  heard  her  go  out 
of  the  house. 

The  letter  had  fallen  on  to  the  floor.  I  picked  it 
up.  The  handwriting  was  very  broken.  The  address 
gave  a  village  some  few  miles  away;  the  date  was 
three  days  before. 

u  My  Dear  Lettice : 

"  You  will  want  to  know  I  am  gone.  I  can  hardly 
last  a  day  or  two — my  kidneys  are  nearly  gone. 

"  I  came  over  one  day.  I  didn't  see  you,  but  I 
saw  the  girl  by  the  window,  and  I  had  a  few  words 
with  the  lad.  He  never  knew,  and  he  felt  nothing. 
I  think  the  girl  might  have  done.  If  you  knew  how 
awfully  lonely  I  am,  Lettice — how  awfully  I  have 
been,  you  might  feel  sorry. 

"  I  have  saved  what  I  could,  to  pay  you  back.  I 
have  had  the  worst  of  it  Lettice,  and  I'm  glad  the 
end  has  come.    I  have  had  the  worst  of  it. 

"  Good-bye — for  ever — your  husband, 

"  Frank  Beardsall." 

I  was  numbed  by  this  letter  of  my  father's.  With 
almost  agonised  effort  I  strove  to  recall  him,  but  I 
knew  that  my  image  of  a  tall,  handsome,  dark  man 
with  pale  grey  eyes  was  made  up  from  my  mother's 
few  words,  and  from  a  portrait  I  had  once  seen. 

The  marriage  had  been  unhappy.  My  father  was 
of  frivolous,  rather  vulgar  character,  but  plausible, 
having  a  good  deal  of  charm.  He  was  a  liar,  without 
notion  of  honesty,  and  he  had  deceived  my  mother 


THE    FATHER  51 

thoroughly.  One  after  another  she  discovered  his 
mean  dishonesties  and  deceits,  and  her  soul  revolted 
from  him,  and  hecause  the  illusion  of  him  had  broken 
into  a  thousand  vulgar  fragments,  she  turned  away 
with  the  scorn  of  a  woman  who  finds  her  romance 
has  been  a  trumpery  tale.  When  he  left  her  for  other 
pleasures — Lettie  being  a  baby  of  three  years,  while 
I  was  five — she  rejoiced  bitterly.  She  had  heard  of 
him  indirectly — and  of  him  nothing  good,  although 
he  prospered — but  he  had  never  come  to  see  her  or 
written  to  her  in  all  the  eighteen  years. 

In  a  while  my  mother  came  in.  She  sat  down, 
pleating  up  the  hem  of  her  black  apron,  and  smooth- 
ing it  out  again. 

"  You  know,"  she  said,  "  he  had  a  right  to  the 
children,  and  I've  kept  them  all  the  time." 

"  He  could  have  come,"  said  I. 

"  I  set  them  against  him,  I  have  kept  them  from 
him,  and  he  wanted  them.  I  ought  to  be  by  him 
now — I  ought  to  have  taken  you  to  him  long  ago." 

"  But  how  could  you,  when  you  knew  nothing  of 
him?" 

"  He  would  have  come — he  wanted  to  come — I 
have  felt  it  for  years.  But  I  kept  him  away.  I 
know  I  have  kept  him  away.  I  have  felt  it,  and  he 
has.  Poor  Frank — he'll  see  his  mistakes  now.  He 
would  not  have  been  as  cruel  as  I  have  been " 

"  ISTay,  mother,  it  is  only  the  shock  that  makes  you 
say  so." 

"  This  makes  me  know.  I  have  felt  in  myself  a 
long  time  that  he  was  suffering ;  I  have  had  the  feel- 
ing of  him  in  me.  I  knew,  yes,  I  did  know  he  wanted 
me,  and  you,  I  felt  it.    I  have  had  the  feeling  of  him 


52        THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

upon  me  this  last  three  months  especially  ...  I 
have  been  cruel  to  him." 

"  Well — we'll  go  to  him  now,  shall  we?"  I  said. 

"  To-morrow — to-morrow,"  she  replied,  noticing 
me  really  for  the  first  time.    "  I  go  in  the  morning." 

"  And  I'll  go  with  you.v 

"  Yes — in  the  morning.  Lettie  has  her  party  to 
Chatsworth — don't  tell  her — we  won't  tell  her." 

"  No,"  said  I. 

Shortly  after,  my  mother  went  upstairs.  Lettie 
came  in  rather  late  from  Highclose;  Leslie  did  not 
come  in.  In  the  morning  they  were  going  with  a 
motor  party  into  Matloch  and  Chatsworth,  and  she 
was  excited,  and  did  not  observe  anything. 

After  all,  mother  and  I  could  not  set  out  until  the 
warm,  tempered  afternoon.  The  air  was  full  of  a 
soft  yellowness  when  we  stepped  down  from  the  train 
at  Cossethay.  My  mother  insisted  on  walking  the 
long  two  miles  to  the  village.  We  went  slowly  along 
the  road,  lingering  over  the  little  red  flowers  in  the 
high  hedge-bottom  up  the  hillside.  We  were  reluc- 
tant to  come  to  our  destination.  As  we  came  in  sight 
of  the  little  grey  tower  of  the  church,  we  heard  the 
sound  of  braying,  brassy  music.  Before  us,  filling  a 
little  croft,  the  Wakes  was  in  full  swing. 

Some  wooden  horses  careered  gaily  round,  and 
the  swingboats  leaped  into  the  mild  blue  sky.  We 
sat  upon  the  stile,  my  mother  and  I,  and  watched. 
There  were  booths,  and  cocoanut  shies  and  round- 
abouts scattered  in  the  small  field.  Groups  of  chil- 
dren moved  quietly  from  attraction  to  attraction.  A 
deeply  tanned  man  came  across  the  field  swinging 
two  dripping  buckets  of  water.    Women  looked  from 


THE    FATHER  53 

the  doors  of  their  brilliant  caravans,  and  lean  dogs 
rose  lazily  and  settled  down  again  under  the  steps. 
The  fair  moved  slowly,  for  all  its  noise.  A  stout 
lady,  with  a  husky  masculine  voice  invited  the  ex- 
cited children  into  her  peep  show.  A  swarthy  man 
stood  with  his  thin  legs  astride  on  the  platform  of  the 
roundabouts,  and  sloping  backwards,  his  mouth  dis- 
tended with  a  row  of  fingers,  he  whistled  astonish- 
ingly to  the  coarse  row  of  the  organ,  and  his  whis- 
tling sounded  clear,  like  the  flight  of  a  wild  goose 
high  over  the  chimney  tops,  as  he  was  carried  round 
and  round.  A  little  fat  man  with  an  ugly  swelling 
on  his  chest  stood  screaming  from  a  filthy  booth  to 
a  crowd  of  urchins,  bidding  them  challenge  a  big, 
stolid  young  man  who  stood  with  folded  arms,  his 
fists  pushing  out  his  biceps.  On  being  asked  if  he 
would  undertake  any  of  these  prospective  challenges, 
this  young  man  nodded,  not  having  yet  attained  a 
talking  stage: — yes  he  would  take  two  at  a  time, 
screamed  the  little  fat  man  with  the  big  excrescence 
on  his  chest,  pointing  at  the  cowering  lads  and  girls. 
Further  off,  Punch's  quaint  voice  could  be  heard 
when  the  cocoanut  man  ceased  grinding  out  screeches 
from  his  rattle.  The  cocoanut  man  was  wroth,  for 
these  youngsters  would  not  risk  a  penny  shy,  and  the 
rattle  yelled  like  a  fiend.  A  little  girl  came  along  to 
look  at  us;  daintily  licking  an  ice-cream  sandwich. 
We  were  uninteresting,  however,  so  she  passed  on  to 
stare  at  the  caravans. 

We  had  almost  gathered  courage  to  cross  the 
wakes,  when  the  cracked  bell  of  the  church  sent  its 
note  falling  over  the  babble. 

"  One — two — three  " — had     it     really     sounded 


54         THE    WHITE   PEACOCK 

three !  Then  it  rang  on  a  lower  bell — "  One — two 
— three."  A  passing  bell  for  a  man!  I  looked  at 
my  mother — she  turned  away  from  me. 

The  organ  flared  on — the  husky  woman  came  for- 
ward to  make  another  appeal.  Then  there  was  a 
lull.  The  man  with  the  lump  on  his  chest  had  gone 
inside  the  rag  to  spar  with  the  solid  fellow.  The 
cocoanut  man  had  gone  to  the  "  Three  Tunns  "  in 
fury,  and  a  brazen  girl  of  seventeen  or  so  was  in 
charge  of  the  nuts.  The  horses  careered  round,  car- 
rying two  frightened  boys. 

Suddenly  the  quick,  throbbing  note  of  the  low  bell 
struck  again  through  the  din.  I  listened — but  could 
not  keep  count.  One,  two,  three,  four — for  the  third 
time  that  great  lad  had  determined  to  go  on  the 
horses,  and  they  had  started  while  his  foot  was  on  the 
step,  and  he  had  been  foiled — eight,  nine,  ten — no 
wonder  that  whistling  man  had  such  a  big  Adam's 
apple — I  wondered  if  it  hurt  his  neck  when  he 
talked,  being  so  pointed — nineteen,  twenty — the  girl 
was  licking  more  ice-cream,  with  precious,  tiny  licks 
— twenty-five,  twenty-six — I  wondered  if  I  did  count 
to  twenty-six  mechanically.  At  this  point  I  gave  it 
up,  and  watched  for  Lord  Tennyson's  bald  head  to 
come  spinning  round  on  the  painted  rim  of  the  round- 
abouts, followed  by  a  red-faced  Lord  Roberts,  and 
a  villainous  looking  Disraeli. 

"  Fifty-one "  said  my  mother.    "  Come — come 

along." 

We  hurried  through  the  fair,  towards  the  church; 
towards  a  garden  where  the  last  red  sentinels  looked 
out  from  the  top  of  the  holly-hock  spires.  The  gar- 
den was  a  tousled  mass  of  faded  pink  chrysanthe- 


THE    FATHER  55 

mums,  and  weak-eyed  Michaelmas  daisies,  and  spec- 
tre stalks  of  holly-hock.  It  belonged  to  a  low,  dark 
house,  which  crouched  behind  a  screen  of  yews.  We 
waked  along  to  the  front.  The  blinds  were  down, 
and  in  one  room  we  could  see  the  stale  light  of  can- 
dles burning. 

"  Is  this  Yew  Cottage  ? "  asked  my  mother  of  a 
curious  lad. 

"  It's  Mrs.  May's,"  replied  the  boy. 

"  Does  she  live  alone  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  She  'ad  French  Carlin — but  he's  dead — an  she's 
letten  th'  candles  ter  keep  th'  owd  lad  off'n  'im." 

We  went  to  the  house  and  knocked. 

"  An  ye  come  about  him  ? "  hoarsely  whispered  a 
bent  old  woman,  looking  up  with  very  blue  eyes,  nod- 
ding her  old  head  with  its  velvet  net  significantly  to- 
wards the  inner  room. 

"  Yes "  said  my  mother,  "  we  had  a  letter." 

"  Ay,  poor  fellow — he's  gone,  missis,"  and  the  old 
lady  shook  her  head.  Then  she  looked  at  us  curi- 
ously, leaned  forward,  and,  putting  her  withered  old 
hand  on  my  mother's  arm,  her  hand  with  its  dark 
blue  veins,  she  whispered  in  confidence,  "  and  the 
candles  'as  gone  out  twice.  'E  wor  a  funny  feller, 
very  funny !  " 

"  I  must  come  in  and  settle  things — I  am  his  near- 
est relative,"  said  my  mother,  trembling. 

"  Yes — I  must  'a  dozed,  for  when  I  looked  up,  it 
wor  black  darkness.  Missis,  I  dursn't  sit  up  wi'  'im 
no  more,  an'  many  a  one  I've  laid  out.  Eh,  but  his 
sufferin's,  Missis — poor  feller — eh,  Missis !  " — she 
lifted  her  ancient  hands,  and  looked  up  at  my  mother, 
with  her  eyes  so  intensely  blue. 


56         THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  Do  you  know  where  lie  kept  his  papers  8  "  asked 
my  mother. 

"  Yis,  I  axed  Father  Burns  about  it ;  he  said  we 
mun  pray  for  'im.  I  bought  him  candles  out  o'  my 
own  pocket.  He  wor  a  rum  feller,  he  wor !  "  and 
again  she  shook  her  grey  head  mournfully.  My 
mother  took  a  step  forward. 

"  Did  ye  want  to  see  'im  ? "  asked  the  old  woman 
with  half  timid  questioning. 

"  Yes,"  replied  my  mother,  with  a  vigorous  nod. 
She  perceived  now  that  the  old  lady  was  deaf. 

We  followed  the  woman  into  the  kitchen,  a  long, 
low  room,  dark,  with  drawn  blinds. 

"  Sit  ye  down,"  said  the  old  lady  in  the  same  low 
tone,  as  if  she  were  speaking  to  herself : 

"  Ye  are  his  sister,  'appen  %  " 

My  mother  shook  her  head. 

"  Oh — his  brother's  wife !  "  persisted  the  old  lady. 

We  shook  our  heads. 

"  Only  a  cousin  ? "  she  guessed,  and  looked  at  us 
appealingly.     I  nodded  assent. 

"  Sit  ye  there  a  minute,"  she  said,  and  trotted  off. 
She  banged  the  door,  and  jarred  a  chair  as  she  went. 
When  she  returned,  she  set  down  a  bottle  and  two 
glasses  with  a  thump  on  the  table  in  front  of  us. 
Her  thin,  skinny  wrist  seemed  hardly  capable  of 
carrying  the  bottle. 

"  It's  one  as  he'd  only  just  begun  of — 'ave  a  drop 
to  keep  ye  up — do  now,  poor  thing,"  she  said,  push- 
ing the  bottle  to  my  mother,  and  hurrying  off,  re- 
turning with  the  sugar  and  the  kettle.     We  refused. 

"  'E  won't  want  it  no  more,  poor  feller — an  it's 
good,  Missis,  he  allers  drank  it  good.     Ay — an'  'e 


THE   FATHER  57 

'adn't  a  drop  the  last  three  days,  poor  man,  poor 
feller,  not  a  drop.  Come  now,  it'll  stay  ye,  come 
now."     We  refused. 

"  'T's  in  there,"  she  whispered,  pointing  to  a 
closed  door  in  a  dark  corner  of  the  gloomy  kitchen. 
I  stumbled  up  a  little  step,  and  went  plunging 
against  a  rickety  table  on  which  was  a  candle  in  a  tall 
brass  candlestick.  Over  went  the  candle,  and  it 
rolled  on  the  floor,  and  the  brass  holder  fell  with 
much  clanging. 

"Eh!— Eh!  Dear— Lord,  Dear— Heart.  Dear 
— Heart !  "  wailed  the  old  woman.  She  hastened 
trembling  round  to  the  other  side  of  the  bed,  and 
relit  the  extinguished  candle  at  the  taper  which  was 
still  burning.  As  she  returned,  the  light  glowed 
on  her  old,  wrinkled  face,  and  on  the  burnished 
knobs  of  the  dark  mahogany  bedstead,  while  a  stream 
of  wax  dripped  down  on  to  the  floor.  By  the  glim- 
mering light  of  the  two  tapers  we  could  see  the 
outlined  form  under  the  counterpane.  She  turned 
back  the  hem  and  began  to  make  painful  wailing 
sounds.  My  heart  was  beating  heavily,  and  I  felt 
choked.  I  did  not  want  to  look — but  I  must.  It  was 
the  man  I  had  seen  in  the  woods — with  the  puffiness 
gone  from  his  face.  I  felt  the  great  wild  pity,  and  a 
sense  of  terror,  and  a  sense  of  horror,  and  a  sense  of 
awful  littleness  and  loneliness  among  a  great  empty 
space.  I  felt  beyond  myself  as  if  I  were  a  mere  fleck 
drifting  unconsciously  through  the  dark.  Then  I 
felt  my  mother's  arm  round  my  shoulders,  and  she 
cried  pitifully,  "  Oh,  my  son,  my  son !  " 

I  shivered,  and  came  back  to  myself.  There  were 
no  tears  in  my  mother's  face,  only  a  great  pleading. 


58         THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

"Never  mind,  mother — never  mind,"  I  said  inco- 
herently. 

She  rose  and  covered  the  face  again,  and  went 
round  to  the  old  lady,  and  held  her  still,  and  stayed 
her  little  wailings.  The  woman  wiped  from  her 
cheeks  the  few  tears  of  old  age,  and  pushed  her  grey 
hair  smooth  under  the  velvet  network. 

"  Where  are  all  his  things?"  asked  mother. 

"  Eh?"  said  the  old  lady,  lifting  up  her  ear. 

"Are  all  his  things  here?"  repeated  mother  in  a 
louder  tone. 

"Here?" — the  woman  waved  her  hand  round  the 
room.  It  contained  the  great  mahogany  bedstead, 
naked  of  hangings,  a  desk,  and  an  oak  chest,  and 
two  or  three  mahogany  chairs.  "I  couldn't  get  him 
upstairs;  he's  only  been  here  about  a  three  week." 

"Where's  the  key  to  the  desk?"  said  my  mother 
loudly  in  the  woman's  ear. 

"Yes,"  she  replied— " it's  his  desk."  She  looked 
at  us,  perplexed  and  doubtful,  fearing  she  had  mis- 
understood us.    This  was  dreadful. 

"  Key!"  I  shouted.    "  Where  is  the  key?" 

Her  old  face  was  full  of  trouble  as  she  shook  her 
head.     I  took  it  that  she  did  not  know. 

"Where  are  his  clothes?  Clothes"  I  repeated 
pointing  to  my  coat.  She  understood,  and  muttered, 
"  I'll  fetch  'em  ye." 

We  should  have  followed  her  as  she  hurried  up- 
stairs through  a  door  near  the  head  of  the  bed,  had 
we  not  heard  a  heavy  footstep  in  the  kitchen,  and  a 
voice  saying:  "Is  the  old  lady  going  to  drink  with 
the  Devil?  Hullo,  Mrs.  May,  come  and  drink  with 
me!"    We  heard  the  tinkle  of  the  liquor  poured  into 


THE   FATHER  59 

a  glass,  and  almost  immediately  the  light  tap  of  the 
empty  tumbler  on  the  table. 

"  I'll  see  what  the  old  girl's  up  to,"  he  said,  and 
the  heavy  tread  came  towards  us.  Like  me,  he 
stumbled  at  the  little  step,  but  escaped  collision  with 
the  table. 

"  Damn  that  fool's  step,"  he  said  heartily.  It  was 
the  doctor — for  he  kept  his  hat  on  his  head,  and  did 
not  hesitate  to  stroll  about  the  house.  He  was  a  big, 
burly,  red-faced  man. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  observing  my 
mother.    My  mother  bowed. 

"  Mrs.  Beardsall  ?  "  he  asked,  taking  off  his  hat. 

My  mother  bowed. 

"  I  posted  a  letter  to  you.  You  are  a  relative  of 
his — of  poor  old  Carlin's  ?  " — he  nodded  sideways 
towards  the  bed. 

"  The  nearest,"  said  my  mother. 

"  Poor  fellow — he  was  a  bit  stranded.  Comes  of 
being  a  bachelor,  Ma'am." 

"  I  was  very  much  surprised  to  hear  from  him," 
said  my  mother. 

"  Yes,  I  guess  he's  not  been  much  of  a  one  for 
writing  to  his  friends.  He's  had  a  bad  time  lately. 
You  have  to  pay  some  time  or  other.  We  bring  them 
on  ourselves — silly  devils  as  we  are. — I  beg  your 
pardon." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  during  which  the 
doctor  sighed,  and  then  began  to  whistle  softly. 

"  Well — we  might  be  more  comfortable  if  we  had 
the  blind  up,"  he  said,  letting  daylight  in  among  the 
glimmer  of  the  tapers  as  he  spoke. 

"  At  any  rate,"  he  said,  "  you  won't  have  any 


60        THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

trouble  settling  up — no  debts  or  anything  of  tbat.  I 
believe  there's  a  bit  to  leave — so  it's  not  so  bad.  Poor 
devil — he  was  very  down  at  the  last ;  but  we  have  to 
pay  at  one  end  or  the  other.  What  on  earth  is  the 
old  girl  after  ? "  he  asked,  looking  up  at  the  raftered 
ceiling,  which  was  rumbling  and  thundering  with  the 
old  lady's  violent  rummaging. 

"  We  wanted  the  key  of  his  desk,"  said  my  mother. 

"  Oh — I  can  find  you  that — and  the  will.  He  told 
me  where  they  were,  and  to  give  them  you  when  you 
came.  He  seemed  to  think  a  lot  of  you.  Perhaps 
he  might  ha'  done  better  for  himself " 

Here  we  heard  the  heavy  tread  of  the  old  lady 
coming  downstairs.  The  doctor  went  to  the  foot  of 
the  stairs. 

"  Hello,  now — be  careful !  "  he  bawled.  The  poor 
old  woman  did  as  he  expected,  and  trod  on  the  braces 
of  the  trousers  she  was  trailing,  and  came  crashing 
into  his  arms.  He  set  her  tenderly  down,  saying, 
"  Not  hurt,  are  you  ? — no !  "  and  he  smiled  at  her 
and  shook  his  head. 

"  Eh,  doctor — Eh,  doctor — bless  ye,  I'm  thankful 
ye've  come.    Ye'll  see  to  'em  now,  will  ye  ?  " 

"  Yes — "  he  nodded  in  his  bluff,  winning  way, 
and  hurrying  into  the  kitchen,  he  mixed  her  a  glass 
of  whisky,  and  brought  one  for  himself,  saying 
to  her,  "  There  you  are — 'twas  a  nasty  shaking  for 
you." 

The  poor  old  woman  sat  in  a  chair  by  the  open 
door  of  the  staircase,  the  pile  of  clothing  tumbled 
about  her  feet.  She  looked  round  pitifully,  at  us 
and  at  the  daylight  struggling  among  the  candle 
light,  making  a  ghostly  gleam  on  the  bed  where  the 


THE    FATHER  61 

rigid  figure  lay  unmoved ;  her  hand  trembled  so  that 
she  could  scarcely  hold  her  glass. 

The  doctor  gave  us  the  keys,  and  we  rifled  the 
desk  and  the  drawers,  sorting  out  all  the  papers. 
The  doctor  sat  sipping  and  talking  to  us  all  the 
time. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  he's  only  been  here  about  two 
years.  Felt  himself  beginning  to  break  up  then,  I 
think.  He'd  been  a  long  time  abroad;  they  always 
called  him  Frenchy."  The  doctor  sipped  and  re- 
flected, and  sipped  again,  "  Ay — he'd  run  the  rig  in 
his  day — used  to  dream  dreadfully.  Good  thing  the 
old  woman  was  so  deaf.  Awful,  when  a  man  gives 
himself  away  in  his  sleep;  played  the  deuce  with 
him,  knowing  it."  Sip,  sip,  sip — and  more  reflec- 
tions— and  another  glass  to  be  mixed. 

"  But  he  was  a  jolly  decent  fellow — generous, 
open-handed.  The  folks  didn't  like  him,  because 
they  couldn't  get  to  the  bottom  of  him ;  they  always 
hate  a  thing  they  can't  fathom.  He  was  close,  there's 
no  mistake — save  when  he  was  asleep  sometimes." 
The  doctor  looked  at  his  glass,  and  sighed. 

"  However — we  shall  miss  him — shan't  we,  Mrs. 
May  ? "  he  bawled  suddenly,  startling  us,  making  us 
glance  at  the  bed. 

He  lit  his  pipe  and  puffed  voluminously  in  order 
to  obscure  the  attraction  of  his  glass.  Meanwhile  we 
examined  the  papers.  There  were  very  few  letters — 
one  or  two  addressed  to  Paris.  There  were  many 
bills,  and  receipts,  and  notes — business,  all  business. 

There  was  hardly  a  trace  of  sentiment  among  all 
the  litter.  My  mother  sorted  out  such  papers  as  she 
considered  valuable;  the  others,  letters  and  missives 


62         THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

which  she  glanced  at  cursorily  and  put  aside,  she  took 
into  the  kitchen  and  burned.  She  seemed  afraid  to 
find  out  too  much. 

The  doctor  continued  to  colour  his  tobacco  smoke 
with  a  few  pensive  words. 

"  Ay,"  he  said,  "  there  are  two  ways.  You  can 
burn  your  lamp  with  a  big  draught,  and  it'll  flare 
away,  till  the  oil's  gone,  then  it'll  stink  and  smoke 
itself  out.  Or  you  can  keep  it  trim  on  the  kitchen 
table,  dirty  your  fingers  occasionally  trimming  it  up, 
and  it'll  last  a  long  time,  and  sink  out  mildly."  Here 
he  turned  to  his  glass,  and  finding  it  empty,  was 
awakened  to  reality. 

"  Anything  I  can  do,  Madam  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  thank  you." 

"  Ay,  I  don't  suppose  there's  much  to  settle.  Nor 
many  tears  to  shed — when  a  fellow  spends  his  years 
an'  his  prime  on  the  Lord  knows  who,  you  can't 
expect  those  that  remember  him  young  to  feel  his  loss 
too  keenly.  He'd  had  his  fling  in  his  day,  though, 
ma'am.  Ay — must  ha'  had  some  rich  times.  No 
lasting  satisfaction  in  it  though — always  wanting, 
craving.  There's  nothing  like  marrying — you've  got 
your  dish  before  you  then,  and  you've  got  to  eat  it." 
He  lapsed  again  into  reflection,  from  which  he  did 
not  rouse  till  we  had  locked  up  the  desk,  burned  the 
useless  papers,  put  the  others  into  my  pockets  and  the 
black  bag,  and  were  standing  ready  to  depart.  Then 
the  doctor  looked  up  suddenly  and  said : 

"  But  what  about  the  funeral  ?  " 

Then  he  noticed  the  weariness  of  my  mother's 
look,  and  he  jumped  up,  and  quickly  seized  his  hat, 
saying: 


THE    FATHER  63 

"  Come  across  to  my  wife  and  have  a  cup  of  tea. 
Buried  in  these  dam  holes  a  fellow  gets  such  a  boor. 
Do  come — my  little  wife  is  lonely — come  just  to  see 
her." 

My  mother  smiled  and  thanked  him.  We  turned 
to  go.  My  mother  hesitated  in  her  walk;  on  the 
threshold  of  the  room  she  glanced  round  at  the  bed, 
but  she  went  on. 

Outside,  in  the  fresh  air  of  the  fading  afternoon, 
I  could  not  believe  it  was  true.  It  was  not  true,  that 
sad,  colourless  face  with  grey  beard,  wavering  in  the 
yellow  candle-light.  It  was  a  lie, — that  wooden  bed- 
stead, that  deaf  woman,  they  were  fading  phrases  of 
the  untruth.  That  yellow  blaze  of  little  sunflowers 
was  true,  and  the  shadow  from  the  sun-dial  on  the 
warm  old  almshouses — that  was  real.  The  heavy 
afternoon  sunlight  came  round  us  warm  and  reviv- 
ing; we  shivered,  and  the  untruth  went  out  of  our 
veins,  and  we  were  no  longer  chilled. 

The  doctor's  house  stood  sweetly  among  the  beech 
trees,  and  at  the  iron  fence  in  front  of  the  little  lawn 
a  woman  was  talking  to  a  beautiful  Jersey  cow  that 
pushed  its  dark  nose  through  the  fence  from  the  field 
beyond.  She  was  a  little,  dark  woman  with  vivid 
colouring;  she  rubbed  the  nose  of  the  delicate  ani- 
mal, peeped  right  into  the  dark  eyes,  and  talked  in 
a  lovable  Scottish  speech;  talked  as  a  mother  talks 
softly  to  her  child. 

When  she  turned  round  in  surprise  to  greet  us 
there  was  still  the  softness  of  a  rich  affection  in  her 
eyes.  She  gave  us  tea,  and  scones,  and  apply  jelly, 
and  all  the  time  we  listened  with  delight  to  her  voice, 
which  was  musical  as  bees  humming  in  the  lime 


64         THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

trees.  Though  she  said  nothing  significant  we  lis- 
tened to  her  attentively. 

Her  husband  was  merry  and  kind.  She  glanced 
at  him  with  quick  glances  of  apprehension,  and  her 
eyes  avoided  him.  He,  in  his  merry,  frank  way, 
chaffed  her,  and  praised  her  extravagantly,  and  teased 
her  again.  Then  he  became  a  trifle  uneasy.  I  think 
she  was  afraid  he  had  been  drinking;  I  think  she 
was  shaken  with  horror  when  she  found  him  tipsy, 
and  bewildered  and  terrified  when  she  saw  him 
drunk.  They  had  no  children.  I  noticed  he  ceased 
to  joke  when  she  became  a  little  constrained.  He 
glanced  at  her  often,  and  looked  somewhat  pitiful 
when  she  avoided  his  looks,  and  he  grew  uneasy,  and 
I  could  see  he  wanted  to  go  away. 

"  I  had  better  go  with  you  to  see  the  vicar,  then," 
he  said  to  me,  and  we  left  the  room,  whose  windows 
looked  south,  over  the  meadows,  the  room  where 
dainty  little  water-colours,  and  beautiful  bits  of  em- 
broidery, and  empty  flower  vases,  and  two  dirty 
novels  from  the  town  library,  and  the  closed  piano, 
and  the  odd  cups,  and  the  chipped  spout  of  the  tea- 
pot causing  stains  on  the  cloth — all  told  one  story. 

We  went  to  the  joiner's  and  ordered  the  coffin,  and 
the  doctor  had  a  glass  of  whisky  on  it ;  the  graveyard 
fees  were  paid,  and  the  doctor  sealed  the  engagement 
with  a  drop  of  brandy ;  the  vicar's  port  completed  the 
doctor's  joviality,  and  we  went  home. 

This  time  the  disquiet  in  the  little  woman's  dark 
eyes  could  not  dispel  the  doctor's  merriment.  He 
rattled  away,  and  she  nervously  twisted  her  wedding 
ring.  He  insisted  on  driving  us  to  the  station,  in 
spite  of  our  alarm. 


THE    FATHER  65 

"  But  you  will  be  quite  safe  with  him,"  said  his 
wife,  in  her  caressing  Highland  speech.  When  she 
shook  hands  at  parting  I  noticed  the  hardness  of  the 
little  palm; — and  I  have  always  hated  an  old,  black 
alpaca  dress. 

It  is  such  a  long  way  home  from  the  station  at 
Eberwich.  We  rode  part  way  in  the  bus;  then  we 
walked.  It  is  a  very  long  way  for  my  mother,  when 
her  steps  are  heavy  with  trouble. 

Rebecca  was  out  by  the  rhododendrons  looking  for 
us.  She  hurried  to  us  all  solicitous,  and  asked 
mother  if  she  had  had  tea. 

"  But  you'll  do  with  another  cup,"  she  said,  and 
ran  back  into  the  house. 

She  came  into  the  dining-room  to  take  my  mother's 
bonnet  and  coat.  She  wanted  us  to  talk ;  she  was  dis- 
tressed on  my  mother's  behalf ;  she  noticed  the  black- 
ness that  lay  under  her  eyes,  and  she  fidgeted  about, 
unwilling  to  ask  anything,  yet  uneasy  and  anxious  to 
know. 

"  Lettie  has  been  home,"  she  said. 

"  And  gone  back  again  ?  "  asked  mother. 

"  She  only  came  to  change  her  dress.  She  put  the 
green  poplin  on.     She  wondered  where  you'd  gone." 

"  What  did  you  tell  her  ?  " 

"  I  said  you'd  just  gone  out  a  bit.  She  said  she 
was  glad.     She  was  as  lively  as  a  squirrel." 

Rebecca  looked  wistfully  at  my  mother.  At  length 
the  latter  said: 

"  He's  dead,  Rebecca.    I  have  seen  him." 

"  Now  thank  God  for  that — no  more  need  to 
worry  over  him." 

"  Well ! — He  died  all  alone,  Rebecca — all  alone." 


66         THE    WHITE   PEACOCK 

"  He  died  as  you've  lived,"  said  Becky  with  some 
asperity. 

"  But  I've  had  the  children,  I've  had  the  children 
— we  won't  tell  Lettie,  Rebecca." 

"  No  'm."    Rebecca  left  the  room. 

"  You  and  Lettie  will  have  the  money,"  said 
mother  to  me.  There  was  a  sum  of  four  thousand 
pounds  or  so.  It  was  left  to  my  mother;  or,  in  de- 
fault to  Lettie  and  me. 

"  Well,  mother — if  it's  ours,  it's  yours." 

There  was  silence  for  some  minutes,  then  she  said, 
"  You  might  have  had  a  father " 

"  We're  thankful  we  hadn't,  mother.  You  spared 
us  that." 

"  But  how  can  you  tell  ?  "  said  my  mother. 

"  I  can,"  I  replied.   "  And  I  am  thankful  to  you." 

"  If  ever  you  feel  scorn  for  one  who  is  near  you 
rising  in  your  throat,  try  and  be  generous,  my  lad." 

"Well "said  I. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  "  we'll  say  no  more.  Some- 
time you  must  tell  Lettie — you  tell  her." 

I  did  tell  her,  a  week  or  so  afterwards. 

"  Who  knows  I  "  she  asked,  her  face  hardening. 

"  Mother,  Becky,  and  ourselves." 

"  Nobody  else !  " 

"  No." 

"  Then  it's  a  good  thing  he  is  out  of  the  way  if  he 
was  such  a  nuisance  to  mother.    Where  is  she  ?  " 

"  Upstairs." 

Lettie  ran  to  her. 


CHAPTER  V 


THE    SCENT    OF    BLOOD 


The  death  of  the  man  who  was  our  father  changed 
our  lives.  It  was  not  that  we  suffered  a  great  grief ; 
the  chief  trouble  was  the  unanswered  crying  of  fail- 
ure. But  we  were  changed  in  our  feelings  and  in 
our  relations ;  there  was  a  new  consciousness,  a  new 
carefulness. 

We  had  lived  between  the  woods  and  the  water  all 
our  lives,  Lettie  and  I,  and  she  had  sought  the  bright 
notes  in  everything.  She  seemed  to  hear  the  water 
laughing,  and  the  leaves  tittering  and  giggling  like 
young  girls ;  the  aspen  fluttered  like  the  draperies  of 
a  flirt,  and  the  sound  of  the  wood-pigeons  was  almost 
foolish  in  its  sentimentality. 

Lately,  however,  she  had  noticed  again  the  cruel 
pitiful  crying  of  a  hedgehog  caught  in  a  gin,  and 
she  had  noticed  the  traps  for  the  fierce  little  murder- 
ers, traps  walled  in  with  a  small  fence  of  fir,  and 
baited  with  the  guts  of  a  killed  rabbit. 

On  an  afternoon  a  short  time  after  our  visit  to 
Cossethay,  Lettie  sat  in  the  window  seat.  The  sun 
clung  to  her  hair,  and  kissed  her  with  passionate 
splashes  of  colour  brought  from  the  vermilion,  dying 
creeper  outside.  The  sun  loved  Lettie,  and  was 
loath  to  leave  her.  She  looked  out  over  Nethermere 
to  Highclose,  vague  in  the  September  mist.    Had  it 

67 


68         THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

not  been  for  the  scarlet  light  on  her  face,  I  should 
have  thought  her  look  was  sad  and  serious.  She  nes- 
tled up  to  the  window,  and  leaned  her  head  against 
the  wooden  shaft.  Gradually  she  drooped  into  sleep. 
Then  she  became  wonderfully  childish  again — it  was 
the  girl  of  seventeen  sleeping  there,  with  her  full 
pouting  lips  slightly  apart,  and  the  breath  coming 
lightly.  I  felt  the  old  feeling  of  responsibility;  I 
must  protect  her,  and  take  care  of  her. 

There  was  a  crunch  of  the  gravel.  It  was  Leslie 
coming.  He  lifted  his  hat  to  her,  thinking  she  was 
looking.  He  had  that  fine,  lithe  physique,  suggestive 
of  much  animal  vigour;  his  person  was  exceedingly 
attractive;  one  watched  him  move  about,  and  felt 
pleasure.  His  face  was  less  pleasing  than  his  per- 
son. He  was  not  handsome;  his  eyebrows  were  too 
light,  his  nose  was  large  and  ugly,  and  his  forehead, 
though  high  and  fair,  was  without  dignity.  But  he 
had  a  frank,  good-natured  expression,  and  a  fine, 
wholesome  laugh. 

He  wondered  why  she  did  not  move.  As  he  came 
nearer  he  saw.  Then  he  winked  at  me  and  came  in. 
He  tip-toed  across  the  room  to  look  at  her.  The 
sweet  carelessness  of  her  attitude,  the  appealing,  half- 
pitiful  girlishness  of  her  face  touched  his  respon- 
sive heart,  and  he  leaned  forward  and  kissed  her 
cheek  where  already  was  a  crimson  stain  of  sun- 
shine. 

She  roused  half  out  of  her  sleep  with  a  little, 
petulant  "  Oh !  "  as  an  awakened  child.  He  sat  down 
behind  her,  and  gently  drew  her  head  against  him, 
looking  down  at  her  with  a  tender,  soothing  smile.  I 
thought  she  was  going  to  fall  asleep  thus.     But  her 


THE    SCENT   OF   BLOOD        69 

eyelids  quivered,  and  her  eyes  beneath  them  nickered 
into  consciousness. 

"  Leslie ! — oh ! — Let  me  go !  "  she  exclaimed,  push- 
ing him  away.  He  loosed  her,  and  rose,  looking  at 
her  reproachfully.  She  shook  her  dress,  and  went 
quickly  to  the  mirror  to  arrange  her  hair. 

"  You  are  mean !  "  she  exclaimed,  looking  very 
flushed,  vexed,  and  dishevelled. 

He  laughed  indulgently,  saying,  "  You  shouldn't 
go  to  sleep  then  and  look  so  pretty.  Who  could 
help?" 

"  It  is  not  nice ! "  she  said,  frowning  with  irrita- 
tion. 

"  We  are  not  *  nice ' — are  we  ?  I  thought  we  were 
proud  of  our  unconventionality.  Why  shouldn't  I 
kiss  you  ? " 

"  Because  it  is  a  question  of  me,  not  of  you  alone." 

"  Dear  me,  you  are  in  a  way !  " 

"  Mother  is  coming." 

"  Is  she  ?    You  had  better  tell  her." 

Mother  was  very  fond  of  Leslie. 

"  Well,  sir,"  she  said,  "  why  are  you  frowning  J  " 

He  broke  into  a  laugh. 

"  Lettie  is  scolding  me  for  kissing  her  when  she 
was  playing  l  Sleeping  Beauty.'  " 

"  The  conceit  of  the  boy,  to  play  Prince !  "  said 
my  mother. 

"  Oh,  but  it  appears  I  was  sadly  out  of  character," 
he  said  ruefully. 

Lettie  laughed  and  forgave  him. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  looking  at  her,  and  smiling,  "  I 
came  to  ask  you  to  go  out." 

"  It  is  a  lovely  afternoon,"  said  mother. 


70         THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

She  glanced  at  him,  and  said : 

"  I  feel  dreadfully  lazy." 

"  Never  mind !  "  he  replied,  "  you'll  wake  up.  Go 
and  put  your  hat  on." 

He  sounded  impatient.     She  looked  at  him. 

He  seemed  to  be  smiling  peculiarly. 

She  lowered  her  eyes  and  went  out  of  the  room. 

"  She'll  come  all  right,"  he  said,  to  himself,  and 
to  me.     "  She  likes  to  play  you  on  a  string." 

She  must  have  heard  him.  When  she  came  in 
again,  drawing  on  her  gloves,  she  said  quietly : 

"  You  come  as  well,  Pat." 

He  swung  round  and  stared  at  her  in  angry  amaze- 
ment. 

"  I  had  rather  stay  and  finish  this  sketch,"  I  said, 
feeling  uncomfortable. 

"  No,  but  do  come,  there's  a  dear."  She  took  the 
brush  from  my  hand,  and  drew  me  from  my  chair. 
The  blood  flushed  into  his  cheeks.  He  went  quietly 
into  the  hall  and  brought  my  cap. 

"  All  right !  "  he  said  angrily.  "  Women  like  to 
fancy  themselves  Napoleons." 

"  They  do,  dear  Iron  Duke,  they  do,"  she  mocked. 

"  Yet,  there's  a  Waterloo  in  all  their  histories,"  he 
said,  since  she  had  supplied  him  with  the  idea. 

"  Say  Peterloo,  my  general,  say  Peterloo." 

"Ay,  Peterloo,"  he  replied,  with  a  splendid  curl 
of  the  lip — "  Easy  conquests !  " 

"  '  He  came,  he  saw,  he  conquered,'  "  Lettie  re- 
cited. 

"  Are  you  coming  I  "  he  said,  getting  more  angry. 

"  When  you  bid  me,"  she  replied,  taking  my  arm. 

We  went  through  the  wood,  and  through  the  dis- 


THE    SCENT   OF   BLOOD        71 

hevelled  border-land  to  the  high  road,  through  the 
border-land  that  should  have  been  park-like,  but 
which  was  shaggy  with  loose  grass  and  yellow  mole- 
hills, ragged  with  gorse  and  bramble  and  briar,  with 
wandering  old  thorn-trees,  and  a  queer  clump  of 
Scotch  firs. 

On  the  highway  the  leaves  were  falling,  and  they 
chattered  under  our  steps.  The  water  was  mild  and 
blue,  and  the  corn  stood  drowsily  in  "  stook." 

We  climbed  the  hill  behind  Highclose,  and  walked 
on  along  the  upland,  looking  across  towards  the  hills 
of  arid  Derbyshire,  and  seeing  them  not,  because  it 
was  autumn.  We  came  in  sight  of  the  head-stocks 
of  the  pit  at  Selsby,  and  of  the  ugly  village  standing 
blank  and  naked  on  the  brow  of  the  hill. 

Lettie  was  in  very  high  spirits.  She  laughed  and 
joked  continually.  She  picked  bunches  of  hips  and 
stuck  them  in  her  dress.  Having  got  a  thorn  in  her 
finger  from  a  spray  of  blackberries,  she  went  to  Les- 
lie to  have  it  squeezed  out.  We  were  all  quite  gay  as 
we  turned  off  the  high  road  and  went  along  the  bridle 
path,  with  the  woods  on  our  right,  the  high  Strelley 
hills  shutting  in  our  small  valley  in  front,  and  the 
fields  and  the  common  to  the  left.  About  half  way 
down  the  lane  we  heard  the  slurr  of  the  scythestone 
on  the  scythe.  Lettie  went  to  the  hedge  to  see.  It 
was  George  mowing  the  oats  on  the  steep  hillside 
where  the  machine  could  not  go.  His  father  was 
tying  up  the  corn  into  sheaves. 

Straightening  his  back,  Mr.  Saxton  saw  us,  and 
called  to  us  to  come  and  help.  We  pushed  through 
a  gap  in  the  hedge  and  went  up  to  him. 

"  Now  then,"  said  the  father  to  me,  "  take  that 


72         THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

coat  off,"  and  to  Lettie :  "  Have  you  brought  us  a 
drink  ?  No ; — come,  that  sounds  bad  !  Going  a  walk, 
I  guess.  You  see  what  it  is  to  get  fat,"  and  he 
pulled  a  wry  face  as  he  bent  over  to  tie  the  corn.  He 
was  a  man  beautifully  ruddy  and  burly,  in  the  prime 
of  life. 

"  Show  me,  I'll  do  some,"  said  Lettie. 

"  Nay,"  he  answered  gently,  "  it  would  scratch 
your  wrists  and  break  your  stays.  Hark  at  my 
hands  " — he  rubbed  them  together — "  like  sand- 
paper !  " 

George  had  his  back  to  us,  and  had  not  noticed  us. 
He  continued  to  mow.    Leslie  watched  him. 

"  That's  a  fine  movement !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  father,  rising  very  red  in  the 
face  from  the  tying,  "  and  our  George  enjoys  a  bit  o' 
mowing.  It  puts  you  in  fine  condition  when  you  get 
over  the  first  stiffness." 

We  moved  across  to  the  standing  corn.  The  sun 
being  mild,  George  had  thrown  off  his  hat,  and  his 
black  hair  was  moist  and  twisted  into  confused  half- 
curls.  Firmly  planted,  he  swung  with  a  beautiful 
rhythm  from  the  waist.  On  the  hip  of  his  belted 
breeches  hung  the  scythestone;  his  shirt,  faded  al- 
most white,  was  torn  just  above  the  belt,  and  showed 
the  muscles  of  his  back  playing  like  lights  upon  the 
white  sand  of  a  brook.  There  was  something  exceed- 
ingly attractive  in  the  rhythmic  body. 

I  spoke  to  him,  and  he  turned  round.  He  looked 
straight  at  Lettie  with  a  flashing,  betraying  smile. 
He  was  remarkably  handsome.  He  tried  to  say  some 
words  of  greeting,  then  he  bent  down  and  gathered 
an  armful  of  corn,  and  deliberately  bound  it  up. 


THE    SCENT    OF    BLOOD        73 

Like  him,  Lettie  had  found  nothing  to  say.  Leslie, 
however,  remarked: 

"  I  should  think  mowing  is  a  nice  exercise." 

"  It  is,"  he  replied,  and  continued,  as  Leslie  picked 
up  the  scythe,  "  but  it  will  make  you  sweat,  and  your 
hands  will  be  sore." 

Leslie  tossed  his  head  a  little,  threw  off  his  coat, 
and  said  briefly: 

"  How  do  you  do  it  ? "  Without  waiting  for  a 
reply  he  proceeded.  George  said  nothing,  but  turned 
to  Lettie. 

"  You  are  picturesque,"  she  said,  a  trifle  awk- 
wardly, "  Quite  fit  for  an  Idyll." 

"  And  you  ?  "  he  said. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders,  laughed,  and  turned 
to  pick  up  a  scarlet  pimpernel. 

"  How  do  you  bind  the  corn  ? "  she  asked. 

He  took  some  long  straws,  cleaned  them,  and 
showed  her  the  way  to  hold  them.  Instead  of  attend- 
ing, she  looked  at  his  hands,  big,  hard,  inflamed  by 
the  snaith  of  the  scythe. 

"  I  don't  think  I  could  do  it,"  she  said. 

"  No,"  he  replied  quietly,  and  watched  Leslie 
mowing.  The  latter,  who  was  wonderfully  ready  at 
everything,  was  doing  fairly  well,  but  he  had  not  the 
invincible  sweep  of  the  other,  nor  did  he  make  the 
same  crisp  crunching  music. 

"  I  bet  he'll  sweat,"  said  George. 

"  Don't  you  %  "  she  replied. 

"A  bit — but  I'm  not  dressed  up." 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said  suddenly,  "  your  arms 
tempt  me  to  touch  them.  They  are  such  a  fine  brown 
colour,  and  they  look  so  hard." 


74        THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

He  held  out  one  arm  to  her.  She  hesitated,  then 
she  swiftly  put  her  finger  tips  on  the  smooth  brown 
muscle,  and  drew  them  along.  Quickly  she  hid  her 
hand  into  the  folds  of  her  skirt,  blushing. 

He  laughed  a  low,  quiet  laugh,  at  once  pleasant 
and  startling  to  hear. 

"  I  wish  I  could  work  here,"  she  said,  looking 
away  at  the  standing  corn,  and  the  dim  blue  woods. 
He  followed  her  look,  and  laughed  quietly,  with  in- 
dulgent resignation. 

"  I  do !  "  she  said  emphatically. 

"  You  feel  so  fine,"  he  said,  pushing  his  hand 
through  his  open  shirt  front,  and  gently  rubbing  the 
muscles  of  his  side.  "  It's  a  pleasure  to  work  or  to 
stand  still.  It's  a  pleasure  to  yourself — your  own 
physique." 

She  looked  at  him,  full  at  his  physical  beauty,  as 
if  he  were  some  great  firm  bud  of  life. 

Leslie  came  up,  wiping  his  brow. 

"  Jove,"  said  he,  "  I  do  perspire." 

George  picked  up  his  coat  and  helped  him  into  it ; 
saying: 

"  You  may  take  a  chill." 

"  It's  a  jolly  nice  form  of  exercise,"  said  he. 

George,  who  had  been  feeling  one  finger  tip,  now 
took  out  his  pen-knife  and  proceeded  to  dig  a  thorn 
from  his  hand. 

"  What  a  hide  you  must  have,"  said  Leslie. 

Lettie  said  nothing,  but  she  recoiled  slightly. 

The  father,  glad  of  an  excuse  to  straighten  his 
back  and  to  chat,  came  to  us. 

"You'd  soon  had  enough,"  he  said,  laughing  to 
Leslie. 


THE    SCENT   OF   BLOOD        75 

George  startled  us  with  a  sudden,  "  Holloa."  We 
turned,  and  saw  a  rabbit,  which  had  burst  from  the 
corn,  go  coursing  through  the  hedge,  dodging  and 
bounding  the  sheaves.  The  standing  corn  was  a 
patch  along  the  hill-side  some  fifty  paces  in  length, 
and  ten  or  so  in  width. 

"  I  didn't  think  there' d  have  been  any  in,"  said 
the  father,  picking  up  a  short  rake,  and  going  to  the 
low  wall  of  the  corn.    We  all  followed. 

"  Watch !  "  said  the  father,  "  if  you  see  the  heads 
of  the  corn  shake !  " 

We  prowled  round  the  patch  of  corn. 

"  Hold !  Look  out !  "  shouted  the  father  excitedly, 
and  immediately  after  a  rabbit  broke  from  the  cover. 

"  Ay — Ay — Ay,"  was  the  shout,  "  turn  him — turn 
him!  "  We  set  off  full  pelt.  The  bewildered  little 
brute,  scared  by  Leslie's  wild  running  and  crying, 
turned  from  its  course,  and  dodged  across  the  hill, 
threading  its  terrified  course  through  the  maze  of 
lying  sheaves,  spurting  on  in  a  painful  zigzag,  now 
bounding  over  an  untied  bundle  of  corn,  now  swerv- 
ing from  the  sound  of  a  shout.  The  little  wretch  was 
hard  pressed ;  George  rushed  upon  it.  It  darted  into 
some  fallen  corn,  but  he  had  seen  it,  and  had  fallen 
on  it.  In  an  instant  he  was  up  again,  and  the  little 
creature  was  dangling  from  his  hand. 

We  returned,  panting,  sweating,  our  eyes  flashing, 
to  the  edge  of  the  standing  corn.  I  heard  Lettie  call- 
ing, and  turning  round  saw  Emily  and  the  two  chil- 
dren entering  the  field  as  they  passed  from  school. 

"  There's  another !  "  shouted  Leslie. 

I  saw  the  oat-tops  quiver.  "  Here !  Here !  "  I 
yelled.     The  animal  leaped  out,  and  made  for  the 


76         THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

hedge.  George  and  Leslie,  who  were  on  that  side, 
dashed  off,  turned  him,  and  he  coursed  back  our  way. 
I  headed  him  off  to  the  father  who  swept  in  pursuit 
for  a  short  distance,  but  who  was  too  heavy  for  the 
work.  The  little  beast  made  towards  the  gate,  but 
this  time  Mollie,  with  her  hat  in  her  hand  and  her 
hair  flying,  whirled  upon  him,  and  she  and  the  little 
fragile  lad  sent  him  back  again.  The  rabbit  was 
getting  tired.  It  dodged  the  sheaves  badly,  running 
towards  the  top  hedge.  I  went  after  it.  If  I  could 
have  let  myself  fall  on  it  I  could  have  caught  it,  but 
this  was  impossible  to  me,  and  I  merely  prevented  its 
dashing  through  the  hole  into  safety.  It  raced  along 
the  hedge  bottom.  George  tore  after  it.  As  he  was 
upon  it,  it  darted  into  the  hedge.  He  fell  flat,  and 
shot  his  hand  into  the  gap.  But  it  had  escaped.  He 
lay  there,  panting  in  great  sobs,  and  looking  at  me 
with  eyes  in  which  excitement  and  exhaustion  strug- 
gled like  flickering  light  and  darkness.  When  he 
could  speak,  he  said,  "  Why  didn't  you  fall  on  top 
of  it?" 

"  I  couldn't,"  said  I. 

We  returned  again.  The  two  children  were  peer- 
ing into  the  thick  corn  also.  We  thought  there  was 
nothing  more.  George  began  to  mow.  As  I  walked 
round  I  caught  sight  of  a  rabbit  skulking  near  the 
bottom  corner  of  the  patch.  Its  ears  lay  pressed 
against  its  back;  I  could  see  the  palpitation  of  the 
heart  under  the  brown  fur,  and  I  could  see  the  shin- 
ing dark  eyes  looking  at  me.  I  felt  no  pity  for  it, 
but  still  I  could  not  actually  hurt  it.  I  beckoned  to 
the  father.  He  ran  up,  and  aimed  a  blow  with  the 
rake.     There  was  a  sharp  little  cry  which  sent  a  hot 


THE    SCENT    OF    BLOOD        77 

pain  through  me  as  if  I  had  been  cut.  But  the  rab- 
bit ran  out,  and  instantly  I  forgot  the  cry,  and  gave 
pursuit,  fairly  feeling  my  fingers  stiffen  to  choke  it. 
It  was  all  lame.  Leslie  was  upon  it  in  a  moment, 
and  he  almost  pulled  its  head  off  in  his  excitement 
to  kill  it. 

I  looked  up.  The  girls  were  at  the  gate,  just  turn- 
ing away. 

"  There  are  no  more,"  said  the  father. 

At  that  instant  Mary  shouted. 

"  There's  one  down  this  hole." 

The  hole  was  too  small  for  George  to  get  his  hand 
in,  so  we  dug  it  out  with  the  rake  handle.  The  stick 
went  savagely  down  the  hole,  and  there  came  a 
squeak. 

"  Mice ! "  said  George,  and  as  he  said  it  the  mother 
slid  out.  Somebody  knocked  her  on  the  back,  and  the 
hole  was  opened  out.  Little  mice  seemed  to  swarm 
everywhere.  It  was  like  killing  insects.  We  counted 
nine  little  ones  lying  dead. 

"  Poor  brute,"  said  George,  looking  at  the  mother, 
"  What  a  job  she  must  have  had  rearing  that  lot ! " 
He  picked  her  up,  handled  her  curiously  and  with 
pity.  Then  he  said,  "  Well,  I  may  as  well  finish  this 
to-night !  " 

His  father  took  another  scythe  from  off  the  hedge, 
and  together  they  soon  laid  the  proud,  quivering 
heads  low.  Leslie  and  I  tied  up  as  they  mowed,  and 
soon  all  was  finished. 

The  beautiful  day  was  flushing  to  die.  Over  in 
the  west  the  mist  was  gathering  bluer.  The  intense 
stillness  was  broken  by  the  rhythmic  hum  of  the 
engines  at  the  distant  coal-mine,  as  they  drew  up  the 


78         THE    WHITE   PEACOCK 

last  bantles  of  men.  As  we  walked  across  the  fields 
the  tubes  of  stubble  tinkled  like  dulcimers.  The 
scent  of  the  corn  began  to  rise  gently.  The  last  cry 
of  the  pheasants  came  from  the  wood,  and  the  little 
clouds  of  birds  were  gone. 

I  carried  a  scythe,  and  we  walked,  pleasantly 
weary,  down  the  hill  towards  the  farm.  The  chil- 
dren had  gone  home  with  the  rabbits. 

When  we  reached  the  mill,  we  found  the  girls  just 
rising  from  the  table.  Emily  began  to  carry  away 
the  used  pots,  and  to  set  clean  ones  for  us.  She 
merely  glanced  at  us  and  said  her  formal  greeting. 
Lettie  picked  up  a  book  that  lay  in  the  ingle  seat,  and 
went  to  the  window.  George  dropped  into  a  chair. 
He  had  flung  off  his  coat,  and  had  pushed  back  his 
hair.  He  rested  his  great  brown  arms  on  the  table 
and  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  Running  like  that,"  he  said  to  me,  passing  his 
hand  over  his  eyes,  "makes  you  more  tired  than  a 
whole  day's  work.  I  don't  think  I  shall  do  it 
again." 

"  The  sport's  exciting  while  it  lasts,"  said  Leslie. 

"  It  does  you  more  harm  than  the  rabbits  do  us 
good,"  said  Mrs.  Saxton. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,  mother,"  drawled  her  son, 
"  it's  a  couple  of  shillings." 

"  And  a  couple  of  days  off  your  life." 

"  What  be  that !  "  he  replied,  taking  a  piece  of 
bread  and  butter,  and  biting  a  large  piece  from  it. 

"  Pour  us  a  drop  of  tea,"  he  said  to  Emily. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  shall  wait  on  such  brutes," 
she  replied,  relenting,  and  flourishing  the  teapot. 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  taking  another  piece  of  bread  and 


THE    SCENT    OF    BLOOD        79 

butter,  "  I'm  not  all  alone  in  my  savageness  this 
time." 

"  Men  are  all  brutes,"  said  Lettie,  hotly,  without 
looking  up  from  her  book. 

"  You  can  tame  us,"  said  Leslie,  in  mighty  good 
humour. 

She  did  not  reply.  George  began,  in  that  delib- 
erate voice  that  so  annoyed  Emily : 

"  It  does  make  you  mad,  though,  to  touch  the  fur, 
and  not  be  able  to  grab  him  " — he  laughed  quietly. 

Emily  moved  off  in  disgust.  Lettie  opened  her 
mouth  sharply  to  speak,  but  remained  silent. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Leslie.  "  When  it  comes  to 
killing  it  goes  against  the  stomach." 

"  If  you  can  run,"  said  George,  "  you  should  be 
able  to  run  to  death.  When  your  blood's  up,  you 
don't  hang  half  way." 

"  I  think  a  man  is  horrible,"  said  Lettie,  "  who 
can  tear  the  head  off  a  little  mite  of  a  thing  like  a 
rabbit,  after  running  it  in  torture  over  a  field." 

"  When  he  is  nothing  but  a  barbarian  to  begin 
with "  said  Emily. 

"  If  you  began  to  run  yourself — you'd  be  the 
same,"  said  George. 

"  Why,  women  are  cruel  enough,"  said  Leslie, 
with  a  glance  at  Lettie.  "  Yes,"  he  continued, 
"  they're  cruel  enough  in  their  way  " — another  look, 
and  a  comical  little  smile. 

"  Well,"  said  George,  "  what's  the  good  finick- 
ing! If  you  feel  like  doing  a  thing — you'd  better 
do  it." 

"  Unless  you  haven't  courage,"  said  Emily,  bit- 


80         THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

He  looked  up  at  her  with  dark  eyes,  suddenly  full 
of  anger. 

"  But,"  said  Lettie — she  could  not  hold  herself 
from  asking,  "  Don't  you  think  it's  brutal,  now — 
now  that  you  do  think — isn't  it  degrading  and  mean 
to  run  the  poor  little  things  down  1 " 

"  Perhaps  it  is,"  he  replied,  "  but  it  wasn't  an 
hour  ago." 

"  You  have  no  feeling,"  she  said  bitterly. 

He  laughed  deprecatingly,  but  said  nothing. 

We  finished  tea  in  silence,  Lettie  reading,  Emily 
moving  about  the  house.  George  got  up  and  went 
out  at  the  end.  A  moment  or  two  after  we  heard 
him  across  the  yard  with  the  milk-buckets,  singing: 
"  The  Ash  Grove." 

"  He  doesn't  care  a  scrap  for  anything,"  said 
Emily  with  accumulated  bitterness.  Lettie  looked 
out  of  the  window  across  the  yard,  thinking.  She 
looked  very  glum. 

After  a  while  we  went  out  also,  before  the  light 
faded  altogether  from  the  pond.  Emily  took  us  into 
the  lower  garden  to  get  some  ripe  plums.  The  old 
garden  was  very  low.  The  soil  was  black.  The 
cornbind  and  goosegrass  were  clutching  at  the  ancient 
gooseberry  bushes,  which  sprawled  by  the  paths. 
The  garden  was  not  very  productive,  save  of  weeds, 
and  perhaps,  tremendous  lank  artichokes  or  swollen 
marrows.  But  at  the  bottom,  where  the  end  of  the 
farm  buildings  rose  high  and  grey,  there  was  a  plum- 
tree  which  had  been  crucified  to  the  wall,  and  which 
had  broken  away  and  leaned  forward  from  bondage. 
Now  under  the  boughs  were  hidden  great  mist- 
bloomed,  crimson  treasures,  splendid  globes.   I  shook 


THE    SCENT    OF   BLOOD        81 

the  old,  ragged  trunk,  green,  with  even  the  fresh  gum 
dulled  over,  and  the  treasures  fell  heavily,  thudding 
down  among  the  immense  rhubarb  leaves  below.  The 
girls  laughed,  and  we  divided  the  spoil,  and  turned 
back  to  the  yard.  We  went  down  to  the  edge  of  the 
garden,  which  skirted  the  bottom  pond,  a  pool  chained 
in  a  heavy  growth  of  weeds.  It  was  moving  with 
rats,  the  father  had  said.  The  rushes  were  thick 
below  us;  opposite,  the  great  bank  fronted  us,  with 
orchard  trees  climbing  it  like  a  hillside.  The  lower 
pond  received  the  overflow  from  the  upper  by  a  tun- 
nel from  the  deep  black  sluice. 

Two  rats  ran  into  the  black  culvert  at  our  ap- 
proach. We  sat  on  some  piled,  mossy  stones,  to 
watch.  The  rats  came  out  again,  ran  a  little  way, 
stopped,  ran  again,  listened,  were  reassured,  and  slid 
about  freely,  dragging  their  long  naked  tails.  Soon 
six  or  seven  grey  beasts  were  playing  round  the 
mouth  of  the  culvert,  in  the  gloom.  They  sat  and 
wiped  their  sharp  faces,  stroking  their  whiskers. 
Then  one  would  give  a  little  rush  and  a  little  squirm 
of  excitement  and  would  jump  vertically  into  the  air, 
alighting  on  four  feet,  running,  sliding  into  the 
black  shadow.  One  dropped  with  an  ugly  plop  into 
the  water,  and  swam  toward  us,  the  hoary  imp,  his 
sharp  snout  and  his  wicked  little  eyes  moving  at  us. 
Lettie  shuddered.  I  threw  a  stone  into  the  dead  pool, 
and  frightened  them  all.  But  we  had  frightened 
ourselves  more,  so  we  hurried  away,  and  stamped  our 
feet  in  relief  on  the  free  pavement  of  the  yard. 

Leslie  was  looking  for  us.  He  had  been  inspecting 
the  yard  and  the  stock  under  Mr.  Saxton's  super- 
vision. 


82        THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  Were  you  running  away  from  me  ? "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  she  replied.  "  I  have  been  to  fetch  you  a 
plum.  Look ! "  And  she  showed  him  two  in  a 
leaf. 

"  They  are  too  pretty  to  eat !  "  said  he. 

"  You  have  not  tasted  yet,"  she  laughed. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  offering  her  his  arm.  "  Let  us 
go  up  to  the  water."    She  took  his  arm. 

It  was  a  splendid  evening,  with  the  light  all  thick 
and  yellow  lying  on  the  smooth  pond.  Lettie  made 
him  lift  her  on  to  a  leaning  bough  of  willow.  He 
sat  with  his  head  resting  against  her  skirts.  Emily 
and  I  moved  on.  We  heard  him  murmur  something, 
and  her  voice  reply,  gently,  caressingly: 

"  No — let  us  be  still — it  is  all  so  still — I  love  it 
best  of  all  now." 

Emily  and  I  talked,  sitting  at  the  base  of  the 
alders,  a  little  way  on.  After  an  excitement,  and  in 
the  evening,  especially  in  autumn,  one  is  inclined  to 
be  sad  and  sentimental.  We  had  forgotten  that  the 
darkness  was  weaving.  I  heard  in  the  little  distance 
Leslie's  voice  begin  to  murmur  like  a  flying  beetle 
that  comes  not  too  near.  Then,  away  down  in  the 
yard  George  began  singing  the  old  song,  "  I  sowed 
the  seeds  of  love." 

This  interrupted  the  flight  of  Leslie's  voice,  and  as 
the  singing  came  nearer,  the  hum  of  low  words 
ceased.  We  went  forward  to  meet  George.  Leslie 
sat  up,  clasping  his  knees,  and  did  not  speak.  George 
came  near,  saying: 

"  The  moon  is  going  to  rise." 

"  Let  me  get  down,"  said  Lettie,  lifting  her  hands 
to  him  to  help  her.    He,  mistaking  her  wish,  put  his 


THE    SCENT    OF    BLOOD        83 

hands  under  her  arms,  and  set  her  gently  down, 
as  one  would  a  child.  Leslie  got  up  quickly,  and 
seemed  to  hold  himself  separate,  resenting  the  in- 
trusion. 

"  I  thought  you  were  all  four  together,"  said 
George  quietly.  Lettie  turned  quickly  at  the  apol- 
ogy: 

"  So  we  were.  So  we  are — five  now.  Is  it  there 
the  moon  will  rise  ?  " 

"  Yes — I  like  to  see  it  come  over  the  wood.  It 
lifts  slowly  up  to  stare  at  you.  I  always  think  it 
wants  to  know  something,  and  I  always  think  I  have 
something  to  answer,  only  I  don't  know  what  it  is," 
said  Emily. 

Where  the  sky  was  pale  in  the  east  over  the  rim 
of  wood  came  the  forehead  of  the  yellow  moon.  We 
stood  and  watched  in  silence.  Then,  as  the  great 
disc,  nearly  full,  lifted  and  looked  straight  upon  us, 
we  were  washed  off  our  feet  in  a  vague  sea  of  moon- 
light. We  stood  with  the  light  like  water  on  our 
faces.  Lettie  was  glad,  a  little  bit  exalted;  Emily 
was  passionately  troubled;  her  lips  were  parted, 
almost  beseeching;  Leslie  was  frowning,  oblivious, 
and  George  was  thinking,  and  the  terrible,  immense 
moonbeams  braided  through  his  feeling.  At  length 
Leslie  said  softly,  mistakenly: 

"  Come  along,  dear  " — and  he  took  her  arm. 

She  let  him  lead  her  along  the  bank  of  the  pond, 
and  across  the  plank  over  the  sluice. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  as  we  were  carefully 
descending  the  steep  bank  of  the  orchard,  "  I  feel 
as  if  I  wanted  to  laugh,  or  dance — something  rather 
outrageous." 


84        THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  Surely  not  like  that  now"  Leslie  replied  in  a  low 
voice,  feeling  really  hurt. 

"  I  do  though !    I  will  race  you  to  the  bottom." 

"  No,  no,  dear !  "  He  held  her  back.  When  he 
came  to  the  wicket  leading  on  to  the  front  lawns, 
he  said  something  to  her  softly,  as  he  held  the 
gate. 

I  think  he  wanted  to  utter  his  half  finished  pro- 
posal, and  so  bind  her. 

She  broke  free,  and,  observing  the  long  lawn 
which  lay  in  grey  shadow  between  the  eastern  and 
western  glows,  she  cried : 

"  Polka ! — a  polka — one  can  dance  a  polka  when 
the  grass  is  smooth  and  short — even  if  there  are  some 
fallen  leaves.     Yes,  yes — how  jolly !  " 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  Leslie,  but  it  was  too 
great  a  shock  to  his  mood.  So  she  called  to  me,  and 
there  was  a  shade  of  anxiety  in  her  voice,  lest  after 
all  she  should  be  caught  in  the  toils  of  the  night's 
sentiment. 

"  Pat — you'll  dance  with  me — Leslie  hates  a 
polka."  I  danced  with  her.  I  do  not  know  the  time 
when  I  could  not  polka — it  seems  innate  in  one's 
feet,  to  dance  that  dance.  We  went  flying  round, 
hissing  through  the  dead  leaves.  The  night,  the  low 
hung  yellow  moon,  the  pallor  of  the  west,  the  blue 
cloud  of  evening  overhead  went  round  and  through 
the  fantastic  branches  of  the  old  laburnum,  spinning 
a  little  madness.  You  cannot  tire  Lettie;  her  feet 
are  wings  that  beat  the  air.  When  at  last  I  stayed 
her  she  laughed  as  fresh  as  ever,  as  she  bound  her 
hair. 

"  There ! "  she  said  to  Leslie,  in  tones  of  extreme 


THE    SCENT    OF    BLOOD        85 

satisfaction,  "  that  was  lovely.  Do  you  come  and 
dance  now." 

"  Not  a  polka,"  said  he,  sadly,  feeling  the  poetry 
in  his  heart  insulted  by  the  jigging  measure. 

"  But  one  cannot  dance  anything  else  on  wet  grass, 
and  through  shuffling  dead  leaves.     You,  George  I  " 

"  Emily  says  I  jump,"  he  replied. 

"  Come  on — come  on  " — and  in  a  moment  they 
were  bounding  across  the  grass.  After  a  few  steps 
she  fell  in  with  him,  and  they  spun  round  the  grass. 
It  was  true,  he  leaped,  sprang  with  large  strides, 
carrying  her  with  him.  It  was  a  tremendous,  irre- 
sistible dancing.  Emily  and  I  must  join,  making  an 
inner  ring.  Now  and  again  there  was  a  sense  of 
something  white  flying  near,  and  wild  rustle  of  drap- 
eries, and  a  swish  of  disturbed  leaves  as  they  whirled 
past  us.     Long  after  we  were  tired  they  danced  on. 

At  the  end,  he  looked  big,  erect,  nerved  with 
triumph,  and  she  was  exhilarated  like  a  Bacchante. 

"  Have  you  finished  ?  "  Leslie  asked. 

She  knew  she  was  safe  from  his  question  that  day. 

"  Yes,"  she  panted.  "  You  should  have  danced. 
Give  me  my  hat,  please.  Do  I  look  very  disgrace- 
ful?" 

He  took  her  hat  and  gave  it  to  her. 

"  Disgraceful  ?  "  he  repeated. 

"  Oh,  you  are  solemn  to-night !    What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  what  is  it  ?  "  he  repeated  ironically. 

"  It  must  be  the  moon.  Now,  is  my  hat  straight  % 
Tell  me  now — you're  not  looking.  Then  put  it  level. 
Now  then!  Why,  your  hands  are  quite  cold,  and 
mine  so  hot !    I  feel  so  impish,"  and  she  laughed. 

"  There — now  I'm  ready.     Do  you  notice  those 


86        THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

little  chrysanthemums  trying  to  smell  sadly;  when 
the  old  moon  is  laughing  and  winking  through  those 
boughs.  What  business  have  they  with  their  sad- 
ness !  "  She  took  a  handful  of  petals  and  flung  them 
into  the  air :  "  There — if  they  sigh  they  ask  for  sor- 
row— I  like  things  to  wink  and  look  wild." 


CHAPTEE   VI 

THE    EDUCATION    OF    GEORGE 

As  T  have  said,  Strelley  Mill  lies  at  the  north  end  of 
the  long  Nethermere  valley.  On  the  northern  slopes 
lay  its  pasture  and  arable  lands.  The  shaggy  com- 
mon, now  closed  and  part  of  the  estate,  covered  the 
western  slope,  and  the  cultivated  land  was  bounded 
on  the  east  by  the  sharp  dip  of  the  brook  course,  a 
thread  of  woodland  broadening  into  a  spinney  and 
ending  at  the  upper  pond ;  beyond  this,  on  the  east, 
rose  the  sharp,  wild,  grassy  hillside,  scattered  with 
old  trees,  ruinous  with  the  gaunt,  ragged  bones  of 
old  hedge-rows,  grown  into  thorn  trees.  Along  the 
rim  of  the  hills,  beginning  in  the  northwest,  were 
dark  woodlands,  which  swept  round  east  and  south 
till  they  raced  down  in  riot  to  the  very  edge  of  south- 
ern Nethermere,  surrounding  our  house.  From  the 
eastern  hill  crest,  looking  straight  across,  you  could 
see  the  spire  of  Selsby  Church,  and  a  few  roofs,  and 
the  head-stocks  of  the  pit. 

So  on  three  sides  the  farm  was  skirted  by  woods, 
the  dens  of  rabbits,  and  the  common  held  another 
warren. 

Now  the  squire  of  the  estate,  head  of  an  ancient, 
once  even  famous,  but  now  decayed  house,  loved  his 
rabbits.  Unlike  the  family  fortunes,  the  family  tree 
nourished  amazingly;  Sherwood  could  show  nothing 

87 


88        THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

comparable.  Its  ramifications  were  stupendous;  it 
was  more  like  a  banyan  than  a  British  oak.  How 
was  the  good  squire  to  nourish  himself  and  his 
lady,  his  name,  his  tradition,  and  his  thirteen  lusty 
branches  on  his  meagre  estates  ?  An  evil  fortune  dis- 
covered to  him  that  he  could  sell  each  of  his  rabbits, 
those  bits  of  furry  vermin,  for  a  shilling  or  there- 
abouts in  Nottingham;  since  which  time  the  noble 
family  subsisted  by  rabbits. 

Farms  were  gnawed  away;  corn  and  sweet  grass 
departed  from  the  face  of  the  hills ;  cattle  grew  lean, 
unable  to  eat  the  defiled  herbage.  Then  the  farm 
became  the  home  of  a  keeper,  and  the  country  was 
silent,  with  no  sound  of  cattle,  no  clink  of  horses,  no 
barking  of  lusty  dogs. 

But  the  squire  loved  his  rabbits.  He  defended 
them  against  the  snares  of  the  despairing  farmer, 
protected  them  with  gun  and  notices  to  quit.  How 
he  glowed  with  thankfulness  as  he  saw  the  dis- 
hevelled hillside  heave  when  the  gnawing  hosts 
moved  on! 

"  Are  they  not  quails  and  manna  ?  "  said  he  to  his 
sporting  guest,  early  one  Monday  morning,  as  the 
high  meadow  broke  into  life  at  the  sound  of  his  gun. 
"  Quails  and  manna — in  this  wilderness  ?  " 

"  They  are,  by  Jove !  "  assented  the  sporting  guest 
as  he  took  another  gun,  while  the  saturnine  keeper 
smiled  grimly. 

Meanwhile,  Strelley  Mill  began  to  suffer  under 
this  gangrene.  It  was  the  outpost  in  the  wilderness. 
It  was  an  understood  thing  that  none  of  the  squire's 
tenants  had  a  gun. 

"  Well,"   said  the   squire  to   Mr.    Saxton,   "  you 


EDUCATION    OF    GEORGE      89 

have  the  land  for  next  to  nothing — next  to  nothing 
— at  a  rent  really  absurd.  Surely  the  little  that  the 
rabbits  eat " 

"  It's  not  a  little — come  and  look  for  yourself," 
replied  the  farmer.  The  squire  made  a  gesture  of 
impatience. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"Will  you  wire  me  off  ?"  was  the  repeated  request. 

"  Wire  is — what  does  Halkett  say — so  much  per 
yard — and  it  would  come  to — what  did  Halkett  tell 
me  now  ? — but  a  large  sum.     No,  I  can't  do  it." 

"  Well,  I  can't  live  like  this." 

"  Have  another  glass  of  whisky  ?  Yes,  yes,  I 
want  another  glass  myself,  and  I  can't  drink  alone — 
so  if  I  am  to  enjoy  my  glass. — That's  it!  Now 
surely  you  exaggerate  a  little.    It's  not  so  bad." 

"  I  can't  go  on  like  it,  I'm  sure." 

"  Well,  we'll  see  about  compensation — we'll  see. 
I'll  have  a  talk  with  Halkett,  and  I'll  come  down  and 
have  a  look  at  you.  We  all  find  a  pinch  somewhere 
— it's  nothing  but  humanity's  heritage." 


I  was  born  in  September,  and  love  it  best  of  all  the 
months.  There  is  no  heat,  no  hurry,  no  thirst  and 
weariness  in  corn  harvest  as  there  is  in  the  hay.  If 
the  season  is  late,  as  is  usual  with  us,  then  mid-Sep- 
tember sees  the  corn  still  standing  in  stook.  The 
mornings  come  slowly.  The  earth  is  like  a  woman 
married  and  fading;  she  does  not  leap  up  with  a 
laugh  for  the  first  fresh  kiss  of  dawn,  but  slowly, 
quietly,  unexpectantly  lies  watching  the  waking  of 
each  new  day.     The  blue  mist,  like  memory  in  the 


90        THE    WHITE   PEACOCK 

eyes  of  a  neglected  wife,  never  goes  from  the  wooded 
hill,  and  only  at  noon  creeps  from  the  near  hedges. 
There  is  no  bird  to  put  a  song  in  the  throat  of  morn- 
ing; only  the  crow's  voice  speaks  during  the  day. 
Perhaps  there  is  the  regular  breathing  hush  of  the 
scythe — even  the  fretful  jar  of  the  mowing  machine. 
But  next  day,  in  the  morning,  all  is  still  again.  The 
lying  corn  is  wet,  and  when  you  have  bound  it,  and 
lift  the  heavy  sheaf  to  make  the  stook,  the  tresses  of 
oats  wreathe  round  each  other  and  droop  mournfully. 

As  I  worked  with  my  friend  through  the  still 
mornings  we  talked  endlessly.  I  would  give  him  the 
gist  of  what  I  knew  of  chemistry,  and  botany,  and 
psychology.  Day  after  day  I  told  him  what  the  pro- 
fessors had  told  me ;  of  life,  of  sex  and  its  origins ; 
of  Schopenhauer  and  William  James.  We  had  been 
friends  for  years,  and  he  was  accustomed  to  my  talk. 
But  this  autumn  fruited  the  first  crop  of  intimacy 
between  us.  I  talked  a  great  deal  of  poetry  to  him, 
and  of  rudimentary  metaphysics.  He  was  very  good 
stuff.  He  had  hardly  a  single  dogma,  save  that  of 
pleasing  himself.  Religion  was  nothing  to  him.  So 
he  heard  all  I  had  to  say  with  an  open  mind,  and 
understood  the  drift  of  things  very  rapidly,  and 
quickly  made  these  ideas  part  of  himself. 

We  tramped  down  to  dinner  with  only  the  clinging 
warmth  of  the  sunshine  for  a  coat.  In  this  still,  en- 
folding weather  a  quiet  companionship  is  very  grate- 
ful. Autumn  creeps  through  everything.  The  little 
damsons  in  the  pudding  taste  of  September,  and  are 
fragrant  with  memory.  The  voices  of  those  at  table 
are  softer  and  more  reminiscent  than  at  haytime. 

Afternoon  is  all  warm  and  golden.     Oat  sheaves 


EDUCATION   OF   GEORGE      91 

are  lighter ;  they  whisper  to  each  other  as  they  freely 
embrace.  The  long,  stout  stubble  tinkles  as  the  foot 
brushes  over  it;  the  scent  of  the  straw  is  sweet. 
When  the  poor,  bleached  sheaves  are  lifted  out  of  the 
hedge,  a  spray  of  nodding  wild  raspberries  is  dis- 
closed, with  belated  berries  ready  to  drop ;  among  the 
damp  grass  lush  blackberries  may  be  discovered. 
Then  one  notices  that  the  last  bell  hangs  from  the 
ragged  spire  of  fox-glove.  The  talk  is  of  people,  an 
odd  book;  of  one's  hopes — and  the  future;  of  Can- 
ada, where  work  is  strenuous,  but  not  life ;  where  the 
plains  are  wide,  and  one  is  not  lapped  in  a  soft  val- 
ley, like  an  apple  that  falls  in  a  secluded  orchard. 
The  mist  steals  over  the  face  of  the  warm  afternoon. 
The  tying-up  is  all  finished,  and  it  only  remains  to 
rear  up  the  fallen  bundles  into  shocks.  The  sun 
sinks  into  a  golden  glow  in  the  west.  The  gold  turns 
to  red,  the  red  darkens,  like  a  fire  burning  low,  the 
sun  disappears  behind  the  bank  of  milky  mist,  pur- 
ple like  the  pale  bloom  on  blue  plums,  and  we  put  on 
our  coats  and  go  home. 


In  the  evening,  when  the  milking  was  finished, 
and  all  the  things  fed,  then  we  went  out  to  look  at 
the  snares.  We  wandered  on  across  the  stream  and 
up  the  wild  hillside.  Our  feet  rattled  through  black 
patches  of  devil's-bit  scabius;  we  skirted  a  swim  of 
thistle-down,  which  glistened  when  the  moon  touched 
it.  We  stumbled  on  through  wet,  coarse  grass,  over 
soft  mole-hills  and  black  rabbit-holes.  The  hills  and 
woods  cast  shadows ;  the  pools  of  mist  in  the  valleys 
gathered  the  moonbeams  in  cold,  shivery  light. 


92        THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

We  came  to  an  old  farm  that  stood  on  the  level 
brow  of  the  hill.  The  woods  swept  away  from  it, 
leaving  a  great  clearing  of  what  was  once  cultivated 
land.  The  handsome  chimneys  of  the  house,  sil- 
houetted against  a  light  sky,  drew  my  admiration.  I 
noticed  that  there  was  no  light  or  glow  in  any  win- 
dow, though  the  house  had  only  the  width  of  one 
room,  and  though  the  night  was  only  at  eight  o'clock. 
We  looked  at  the  long,  impressive  front.  Several  of 
the  windows  had  been  bricked  in,  giving  a  pitiful 
impression  of  blindness ;  the  places  where  the  plaster 
had  fallen  off  the  walls  showed  blacker  in  the  shadow. 
We  pushed  open  the  gate,  and  as  we  walked  down  the 
path,  weeds  and  dead  plants  brushed  our  ankles.  We 
looked  in  at  a  window.  The  room  was  lighted  also 
by  a  window  from  the  other  side,  through  which  the 
moonlight  streamed  on  to  the  nagged  floor,  dirty, 
littered  with  paper,  and  wisps  of  straw.  The  hearth 
lay  in  the  light,  with  all  its  distress  of  grey  ashes, 
and  piled  cinders  of  burnt  paper,  and  a  child's  head- 
less doll,  charred  and  pitiful.  On  the  border-line  of 
shadow  lay  a  round  fur  cap — a  game-keeper's  cap. 
I  blamed  the  moonlight  for  entering  the  desolate 
room ;  the  darkness  alone  was  decent  and  reticent.  I 
hated  the  little  roses  on  the  illuminated  piece  of  wall- 
paper, I  hated  that  fireside. 

With  farmer's  instinct  George  turned  to  the  out- 
house. The  cow-yard  startled  me.  It  was  a  forest 
of  the  tallest  nettles  I  have  ever  seen — nettles  far 
taller  than  my  six  feet.  The  air  was  soddened  with 
the  dank  scent  of  nettles.  As  I  followed  George 
along  the  obscure  brick  path,  I  felt  my  flesh  creep. 
But  the  buildings,  when  we  entered  them,  were  in 


EDUCATION   OF    GEORGE      93 

splendid  condition;  they  had  been  restored  within  a 
small  number  of  years;  they  were  well-timbered, 
neat,  and  cosy.  Here  and  there  we  saw  feathers,  bits 
of  animal  wreckage,  even  the  remnants  of  a  cat, 
which  we  hastily  examined  by  the  light  of  a  match. 
As  we  entered  the  stable  there  was  an  ngly  noise,  and 
three  great  rats  half  rushed  at  us  and  threatened  us 
with  their  vicious  teeth.  I  shuddered,  and  hurried 
back,  stumbling  over  a  bucket,  rotten  with  rust,  and 
so  filled  with  weeds  that  I  thought  it  part  of  the  jun- 
gle. There  was  a  silence  made  horrible  by  the  faint 
noises  that  rats  and  flying  bats  give  out.  The  place 
was  bare  of  any  vestige  of  corn  or  straw  or  hay,  only 
choked  with  a  growth  of  abnormal  weeds.  When  I 
found  myself  free  in  the  orchard  I  could  not  stop 
shivering.  There  were  no  apples  to  be  seen  overhead 
between  us  and  the  clear  sky.  Either  the  birds  had 
caused  them  to  fall,  when  the  rabbits  had  devoured 
them,  or  someone  had  gathered  the  crop. 

"  This,"  said  George  bitterly,  "  is  what  the  mill 
will  come  to." 

"  After  your  time,"  I  said. 

"  My  time — my  time.  I  shall  never  have  a  time. 
And  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  father's  time  isn't 
short — with  rabbits  and  one  thing  and  another.  As 
it  is,  we  depend  on  the  milk-round,  and  on  the  cart- 
ing which  I  do  for  the  council.  You  can't  call  it 
farming.  We're  a  miserable  mixture  of  farmer, 
milkman,  greengrocer,  and  carting  contractor.  It's 
a  shabby  business." 

"  You  have  to  live,"  I  retorted. 

"  Yes — but  it's  rotten.  And  father  won't  move — 
and  he  won't  change  his  methods." 


94        THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

"  Well— what  about  you  ?  " 

"  Me !  What  should  I  change  for  ? — I'm  comfort- 
able at  home.  As  for  my  future,  it  can  look  after 
itself,  so  long  as  nobody  depends  on  me." 

"  Laissez  f aire,"  said  I,  smiling. 

"  This  is  no  laissez  faire,"  he  replied,  glanc- 
ing round,  "  this  is  pulling  the  nipple  out  of  your 
lips,  and  letting  the  milk  run  away  sour.  Look 
there !  " 

Through  the  thin  veil  of  moonlit  mist  that  slid 
over  the  hillside  we  could  see  an  army  of  rabbits 
bunched  up,  or  hopping  a  few  paces  forward,  feed- 
ing. 

We  set  off  at  a  swinging  pace  down  the  hill,  scat- 
tering the  hosts.  As  we  approached  the  fence  that 
bounded  the  Mill  fields,  he  exclaimed,  "  Hullo !  " — 
and  hurried  forward.  I  followed  him,  and  observed 
the  dark  figure  of  a  man  rise  from  the  hedge.  It  was 
a  game-keeper.  He  pretended  to  be  examining  his 
gun.  As  we  came  up  he  greeted  us  with  a  calm 
"  Good-evenin' !  " 

George  replied  by  investigating  the  little  gap  in 
the  hedge. 

"  I'll  trouble  you  for  that  snare,"  he  said. 

"  Will  yer  ? "  answered  Annable,  a  broad,  burly, 
black-faced  fellow.  "  An'  I  should  like  ter  know 
what  you're  doin'  on  th'  wrong  side  th'  'edge  ?  " 

"  You  can  see  what  we're  doing — hand  over  my 
snare — and  the  rabbit,"  said  George  angrily. 

"  What  rabbit  ?  "  said  Annable,  turning  sarcastic- 
ally to  me. 

"  You  know  well  enough — an'  you  can  hand  it 
over — or "  George  replied. 


EDUCATION   OF    GEORGE      95 

"  Or  what?  Spit  it  out!  The  sound  won't  kill 
me  " — the  man  grinned  with  contempt. 

"  Hand  over  here ! "  said  George,  stepping  up  to 
the  man  in  a  rage. 

"  Now  don't ! "  said  the  keeper,  standing  stock 
still,  and  looking  unmovedly  at  the  proximity  of 
George : 

"  You'd  better  get  off  home — both  you  an'  'im. 
You'll  get  neither  snare  nor  rabbit — see  I  " 

"  We  will  see !  "  said  George,  and  he  made  a  sud- 
den move  to  get  hold  of  the  man's  coat.  Instantly  he 
went  staggering  back  with  a  heavy  blow  under  the 
left  ear. 

"Damn  brute !"  I  ejaculated,  bruising  my  knuckles 
against  the  fellow's  jaw.  Then  I  too  found  myself 
sitting  dazedly  on  the  grass,  watching  the  great  skirts 
of  his  velveteens  flinging  round  him  as  if  he  had 
been  a  demon,  as  he  strode  away.  I  got  up,  pressing 
my  chest  where  I  had  been  struck.  George  was  lying 
in  the  hedge-bottom.  I  turned  him  over,  and  rubbed 
his  temples,  and  shook  the  drenched  grass  on  his 
face.  He  opened  his  eyes,  and  looked  at  me,  dazed. 
Then  he  drew  his  breath  quickly,  and  put  his  hand 
to  his  head. 

"  He — he  nearly  stunned  me,"  he  said. 

"  The  devil !  "  I  answered. 

"  I  wasn't  ready." 

"  No." 

"  Did  he  knock  me  down  ? " 

"  Ay — me  too." 

He  was  silent  for  some  time,  sitting  limply.  Then 
he  pressed  his  hand  against  the  back  of  his  head,  say- 
ing, "  My  head  does  sing !  "    He  tried  to  get  up,  but 


96        THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

failed.  "  Good  God ! — being  knocked  into  this  state 
by  a  damned  keeper !  " 

"  Come  on,"  I  said,  "  let's  see  if  we  can't  get  in- 
doors." 

"  No !  "  he  said  quickly,  "  we  needn't  tell  them — 
don't  let  them  know." 

I  sat  thinking  of  the  pain  in  my  own  chest,  and 
wishing  I  could  remember  hearing  Annable's  jaw 
smash,  and  wishing  that  my  knuckles  were  more 
bruised  than  they  were — though  that  was  bad  enough. 
I  got  up,  and  helped  George  to  rise.  He  swayed,  al- 
most pulling  me  over.  But  in  a  while  he  could  walk 
unevenly. 

"  Am  I/'  he  said,  "  covered  with  clay  and  stuff  ?  " 

"  Not  much,"  I  replied,  troubled  by  the  shame  and 
confusion  with  which  he  spoke. 

"  Get  it  off,"  he  said,  standing  still  to  be  cleaned. 

I  did  my  best.  Then  we  walked  about  the  fields 
for  a  time,  gloomy,  silent,  and  sore. 

Suddenly,  as  we  went  by  the  pond-side,  we  were 
startled  by  great,  swishing  black  shadows  that  swept 
just  above  our  heads.  The  swans  were  flying  up  for 
shelter,  now  that  a  cold  wind  had  begun  to  fret 
Nethermore.  They  swung  down  on  to  the  glassy 
mill-pond,  shaking  the  moonlight  in  flecks  across  the 
deep  shadows;  the  night  rang  with  the  clacking  of 
their  wings  on  the  water ;  the  stillness  and  calm  were 
broken;  the  moonlight  was  furrowed  and  scattered, 
and  broken.  The  swans,  as  they  sailed  into  shadow, 
were  dim,  haunting  spectres ;  the  wind  found  us  shiv- 
ering. 

"  Don't — you  won't  say  anything  ?  "  he  asked  as  I 
was  leaving  him. 


EDUCATION   OF    GEORGE      97 

"  No." 

"  Nothing  at  all — not  to  anybody  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Good-night" 


About  the  end  of  September,  our  countryside  was 
alarmed  by  the  harrying  of  sheep  by  strange  dogs. 
One  morning,  the  squire,  going  the  round  of  his 
fields  as  was  his  custom,  to  his  grief  and  horror  found 
two  of  his  sheep  torn  and  dead  in  the  hedge-bottom, 
and  the  rest  huddled  in  a  corner  swaying  about  in 
terror,  smeared  with  blood.  The  squire  did  not  re- 
cover his  spirits  for  days. 

There  was  a  report  of  two  grey  wolvish  dogs. 
The  squire's  keeper  had  heard  yelping  in  the  fields 
of  Dr.  Collins,  of  the  Abbey,  about  dawn.  Three 
sheep  lay  soaked  in  blood  when  the  labourer  went  to 
tend  the  flocks. 

Then  the  farmers  took  alarm.  Lord,  of  the  White 
House  farm,  intended  to  put  his  sheep  in  pen,  with 
his  dogs  in  charge.  It  was  Saturday,  however,  and 
the  lads  ran  off  to  the  little  travelling  theatre  that 
had  halted  at  Westwold.  While  they  sat  open- 
mouthed  in  the  theatre,  gloriously  nicknamed  the 
"  Blood-Tub,"  watching  heroes  die  with  much  writh- 
ing, and  heaving,  and  struggling  up  to  say  a  word, 
and  collapsing  without  having  said  it,  six  of  their 
silly  sheep  were  slaughtered  in  the  field.  At  every 
house  it  was  enquired  of  the  dog;  nowhere  had  one 
been  loose. 

Mr.  Saxton  had  some  thirty  sheep  on  the  Com- 
mon.    George  determined  that  the  easiest  thing  was 


98         THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

for  him  to  sleep  out  with  them.  He  built  a  shelter 
of  hurdles  interlaced  with  brushwood,  and  in  the 
sunny  afternoon  we  collected  piles  of  bracken,  brown- 
ing to  the  ruddy  winter-brown  now.  He  slept  there 
for  a  week,  but  that  week  aged  his  mother  like  a  year. 
She  was  out  in  the  cold  morning  twilight  watching, 
with  her  apron  over  her  head,  for  his  approach.  She 
did  not  rest  with  the  thought  of  him  out  on  the 
Common. 

Therefore,  on  Saturday  night  he  brought  down  his 
rugs,  and  took  up  Gyp  to  watch  in  his  stead.  For 
some  time  we  sat  looking  at  the  stars  over  the  dark 
hills.  Now  and  then  a  sheep  coughed,  or  a  rabbit 
rustled  beneath  the  brambles,  and  Gyp  whined.  The 
mist  crept  over  the  gorse-bushes,  and  the  webs  on 
the  brambles  were  white; — the  devil  throws  his  net 
over  the  blackberries  as  soon  as  September's  back  is 
turned,  they  say. 

"  I  saw  two  fellows  go  by  with  bags  and  nets," 
said  George,  as  we  sat  looking  out  of  his  little  shelter. 

"  Poachers,"  said  I.     "  Did  you  speak  to  them  ?  " 

"  No — they  didn't  see  me.  I  was  dropping  asleep 
when  a  rabbit  rushed  under  the  blanket,  all  of 
a  shiver,  and  a  whippet  dog  after  it.  I  gave  the 
whippet  a  punch  in  the  neck,  and  he  yelped  off.  The 
rabbit  stopped  with  me  quite  a  long  time — then  it 
went." 

"How  did  you  feel?" 

"  I  didn't  care.  I  don't  care  much  what  happens 
just  now.  Father  could  get  along  without  me,  and 
mother  has  the  children.     I  think  I  shall  emigrate." 

"Why  didn't  you  before?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.    There  are  a  lot  of  little  com- 


EDUCATION   OF    GEORGE      99 

forts  and  interests  at  home  that  one  would  miss.  Be- 
sides, you  feel  somebody  in  your  own  countryside, 
and  you're  nothing  in  a  foreign  part,  I  expect." 

"  But  you're  going  1 " 

"  What  is  there  to  stop  here  for  ?  The  valley  is 
all  running  wild  and  unprofitable.  You've  no  free- 
dom for  thinking  of  what  the  other  folks  think  of 
you,  and  everything  round  you  keeps  the  same,  and 
so  you  can't  change  yourself — because  everything 
you  look  at  brings  up  the  same  old  feeling,  and  stops 
you  from  feeling  fresh  things.  And  what  is  there 
that's  worth  anything  ? — What's  worth  having  in  my 
life?" 

"  I  thought,"  said  I,  "  your  comfort  was  worth 
having." 

He  sat  still  and  did  not  answer. 

"  What's  shaken  you  out  of  your  nest  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  don't  know.  I've  not  felt  the  same  since  that 
row  with  Annable.  And  Lettie  said  tome:  (  Here, 
you  can't  live  as  you  like — in  any  way  or  circum- 
stance. You're  like  a  bit  out  of  those  coloured  mar- 
ble mosaics  in  the  hall,  you  have  to  fit  in  your  own 
set,  fit  into  your  own  pattern,  because  you're  put 
there  from  the  first.  But  you  don't  want  to  be-  like 
a  fixed  bit  of  a  mosaic — you  want  to  fuse  into  life, 
and  melt  and  mix  with  the  rest  of  folk,  to  have  some 

things  burned  out  of  you '     She  was  downright 

serious." 

"  Well,  you  need  not  believe  her.  When  did  you 
see  her  ? " 

"  She  came  down  on  Wednesday,  when  I  was  get- 
ting the  apples  in  the  morning.  She  climbed  a  tree 
with  me,  and  there  was  a  wind,  that  was  why  I  was 


100       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

getting  all  the  apples,  and  it  rocked  us,  me  right  up 
at  the  top,  she  sitting  half  way  down  holding  the 
basket.  I  asked  her  didn't  she  think  that  free  kind 
of  life  was  the  best,  and  that  was  how  she  answered 
me." 

"  You  should  have  contradicted  her." 

"  It  seemed  true.  I  never  thought  of  it  being 
wrong,  in  fact." 

"  Come — that  sounds  bad." 

"  No — I  thought  she  looked  down  on  us — on  our 
way  of  life.  I  thought  she  meant  I  was  like  a  toad 
in  a  hole." 

"  You  should  have  shown  her  different." 

"  How  could  I  when  I  could  see  no  different  ?  " 

"  It  strikes  me  you're  in  love." 

He  laughed  at  the  idea,  saying,  "  No,  but  it  is 
rotten  to  find  that  there  isn't  a  single  thing  you  have 
to  be  proud  of." 

"  This  is  a  new  tune  for  you." 

He  pulled  the  grass  moodily. 

"  And  when  do  you  think  of  going  ?  " 

"  Oh — I  don't  know — I've  said  nothing  to  mother. 
Not  yet, — at  any  rate  not  till  spring." 

"  Not  till  something  has  happened,"  said  I. 

"What?"  he  asked. 

"  Something  decisive." 

"  I  don't  know  what  can  happen — unless  the 
Squire  turns  us  out." 

"  No  ? "  I  said.      j 

He  did  not  speak. 

"  You  should  make  things  happen,"  said  I. 

"  Don't  make  me  feel  a  worse  fool,  Cyril,"  he  re- 
plied despairingly. 


EDUCATION   OF   GEORGE     101 

Gyp  whined  and  jumped,  tugging  her  chain  to 
follow  us.  The  grey  blurs  among  the  blackness  of 
the  bushes  were  resting  sheep.  A  chill,  dim  mist 
crept  along  the  ground. 

"  But,  for  all  that,  Cyril,"  he  said,  "  to  have  her 
laugh  at  you  across  the  table ;  to  hear  her  sing  as  she 
moved  about,  before  you  are  washed  at  night,  when 
the  fire's  warm,  and  you're  tired ;  to  have  her  sit  by 
you  on  the  hearth  seat,  close  and  soft.  .  .  ." 

"  In  Spain,"  I  said.     "  In  Spain." 

He  took  no  notice,  but  turned  suddenly,  laughing. 

"  Do  you  know,  when  I  was  stooking  up,  lifting 
the  sheaves,  it  felt  like  having  your  arm  round  a 
girl.    It  was  quite  a  sudden  sensation." 

"  You'd  better  take  care,"  said  I,  "  you'll  mesh 
yourself  in  the  silk  of  dreams,  and  then " 

He  laughed,  not  having  heard  my  words. 

"  The  time  seems  to  go  like  lightning — thinking  " 
he  confessed — "  I  seem  to  sweep  the  mornings  up  in 
a  handful." 

"  Oh,  Lord !  "  said  I.  "  Why  don't  you  scheme 
forgetting  what  you  want,  instead  of  dreaming  ful- 
filments ? " 

"  Well,"  he  replied.  "  If  it  was  a  fine  dream, 
wouldn't  you  want  to  go  on  dreaming  % "  and  with 
that  he  finished,  and  I  went  home. 

I  sat  at  my  window  looking  out,  trying  to  get 
things  straight.  Mist  rose,  and  wreathed  round 
Nethermere,  like  ghosts  meeting  and  embracing 
sadly.  I  thought  of  the  time  when  my  friend  should 
not  follow  the  harrow  on  our  own  snug  valley  side, 
and  when  Lettie's  room  next  mine  should  be  closed 
to  hide  its  emptiness,  not  its  joy.     My  heart  clung 


102       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

passionately  to  the  hollow  which  held  us  all;  how 
could  I  bear  that  it  should  be  desolate !  I  wondered 
what  Lettie  would  do. 

In  the  morning  I  was  up  early,  when  daybreak 
came  with  a  shiver  through  the  woods.  I  went  out, 
while  the  moon  still  shone  sickly  in  the  west.  The 
world  shrank  from  the  morning.  It  was  then  that 
the  last  of  the  summer  things  died.  The  wood  was 
dark, — and  smelt  damp  and  heavy  with  autumn. 
On  the  paths  the  leaves  lay  clogged. 

As  I  came  near  the  farm  I  heard  the  yelling  of 
dogs.  Running,  I  reached  the  Common,  and  saw 
the  sheep  huddled  and  scattered  in  groups,  something 
leaped  round  them.  George  burst  into  sight  pur- 
suing. Directly,  there  was  the  bang,  bang  of  a  gun. 
I  picked  up  a  heavy  piece  of  sandstone  and  ran  for- 
wards. Three  sheep  scattered  wildly  before  me.  In 
the  dim  light  I  saw  their  grey  shadows  move  among 
the  gorse  bushes.  Then  a  dog  leaped,  and  I  flung 
my  stone  with  all  my  might.  I  hit.  There  came  a 
high-pitched  howling  yelp  of  pain;  I  saw  the  brute 
make  off,  and  went  after  him,  dodging  the  prickly 
bushes,  leaping  the  trailing  brambles.  The  gunshots 
rang  out  again,  and  I  heard  the  men  shouting  with 
excitement.  My  dog  was  out  of  sight,  but  I  followed 
still,  slanting  down  the  hill.  In  a  field  ahead  I  saw 
someone  running.  Leaping  the  low  hedge,  I  pursued, 
and  overtook  Emily,  who  was  hurrying  as  fast  as 
she  could  through  the  wet  grass.  There  was  another 
gunshot  and  great  shouting.  Emily  glanced  round, 
saw  me,  and  started. 

"  It's  gone  to  the  quarries,"  she  panted.  We 
walked  on,  without  saying  a  word.      Skirting  the 


EDUCATION   OF   GEORGE     103 

spinney,  we  followed  the  brook  course,  and  came  at 
last  to  the  quarry  fence.  The  old  excavations  were 
filled  now  with  trees.  The  steep  walls,  twenty  feet 
deep  in  places,  were  packed  with  loose  stones,  and 
trailed  with  hanging  brambles.  We  climbed  down 
the  steep  bank  of  the  brook,  and  entered  the  quarries 
by  the  bed  of  the  stream.  Under  the  groves  of  ash 
and  oak  a  pale  primrose  still  lingered,  glimmering 
wanly  beside  the  hidden  water.  Emily  found  a 
smear  of  blood  on  a  beautiful  trail  of  yellow  convol- 
vulus. We  followed  the  tracks  on  to  the  open,  where 
the  brook  flowed  on  the  hard  rock  bed,  and  the  stony 
floor  of  the  quarry  was  only  a  tangle  of  gorse  and 
bramble  and  honeysuckle. 

"  Take  a  good  stone,"  said  I,  and  we  pressed  on, 
where  the  grove  in  the  great  excavation  darkened 
again,  and  the  brook  slid  secretly  under  the  arms  of 
the  bushes  and  the  hair  of  the  long  grass.  We  beat 
the  cover  almost  to  the  road.  I  thought  the  brute 
had  escaped,  and  I  pulled  a  bunch  of  mountain-ash 
berries,  and  stood  tapping  them  against  my  knee.  I 
was  startled  by  a  snarl  and  a  little  scream.  Kun- 
ning  forward,  I  came  upon  one  of  the  old,  horse-shoe 
lime  kilns  that  stood  at  the  head  of  the  quarry. 
There,  in  the  mouth  of  one  of  the  kilns,  Emily  was 
kneeling  on  the  dog,  her  hands  buried  in  the  hair  of 
its  throat,  pushing  back  its  head.  The  little  jerks  of 
the  brute's  body  were  the  spasms  of  death;  already 
the  eyes  were  turning  inward,  and  the  upper  lip  was 
drawn  from  the  teeth  by  pain. 

"Good  Lord,  Emily!  But  he  is  dead!"  I  ex- 
claimed. 

"  Has  he  hurt  you  ? "     I  drew  her  away.     She 


104       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

shuddered  violently,  and  seemed  to  feel  a  horror  of 
herself. 

"  No — no,"  she  said,  looking  at  herself,  with 
blood  all  on  her  skirt,  where  she  had  knelt  on  the 
wound  which  I  had  given  the  dog,  and  pressed  the 
broken  rib  into  the  chest.  There  was  a  trickle  of 
blood  on  her  arm. 

"  Did  he  bite  you  I  "  I  asked,  anxious. 

"  ISTo — oh,  no — I  just  peeped  in,  and  he  jumped. 
But  he  had  no  strength,  and  I  hit  him  back  with 
my  stone,  and  I  lost  my  balance,  and  fell  on 
him." 

"  Let  me  wash  your  arm." 

"  Oh !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  isn't  it  horrible !  Oh, 
I  think  it  is  so  awful." 

"  What  ? "  said  I,  busy  bathing  her  arm  in  the 
cold  water  of  the  brook. 

"  This— this  whole  brutal  affair." 

"  It  ought  to  be  cauterised,"  said  I,  looking  at  a 
score  on  her  arm  from  the  dog's  tooth. 

"  That  scratch — that's  nothing !  Can  you  get 
that  off  my  skirt — I  feel  hateful  to  myself." 

I  washed  her  skirt  with  my  handkerchief  as  well 
as  I  could,  saying: 

"  Let  me  just  sear  it  for  you ;  we  can  go  to  the 
Kennels.  Do — you  ought — I  don't  feel  safe  other- 
wise." 

"Keally,"  she  said,  glancing  up  at  me,  a  smile 
coming  into  her  fine  dark  eyes. 

"  Yes — come  along." 

"  Ha,  ha !  "  she  laughed.     "  You  look  so  serious." 

I  took  her  arm,  and  drew  her  away.  She  linked 
her  arm  in  mine,  and  leaned  on  me. 


EDUCATION   OF   GEORGE     105 

"  It  is  just  like  Lorna  Doone,"  she  said,  as  if  she 
enjoyed  it. 

"  But  you  will  let  me  do  it,"  said  I,  referring  to 
the  cauterising. 

"  You  make  me ;  hut  I  shall  feel — ugh,  I  daren't 
think  of  it.    Get  me  some  of  those  herries." 

I  plucked  a  few  hunches  of  guelder-rose  fruits, 
transparent,  ruby  berries.  She  stroked  them  softly 
against  her  lips  and  cheek,  caressing  them.  Then 
she  murmured  to  herself: 

"  I  have  always  wanted  to  put  red  berries  in  my 
hair." 

The  shawl  she  had  been  wearing  was  thrown  across 
her  shoulders,  and  her  head  was  bare,  and  her  black 
hair,  soft  and  short  and  ecstatic,  tumbled  wildly  into 
loose  light  curls.  She  thrust  the  stalks  of  the  ber- 
ries under  her  combs.  Her  hair  was  not  heavy  or 
long  enough  to  have  held  them.  Then,  with  the  ruby 
bunches  glowing  through  the  black  mist  of  curls,  she 
looked  up  at  me,  brightly,  with  wide  eyes.  I  looked 
at  her,  and  felt  the  smile  winning  into  her  eyes. 
Then  I  turned  and  dragged  a  trail  of  golden-leaved 
convolvulus  from  the  hedge,  and  I  twisted  it  into  a 
coronet  for  her. 

"  There !  "  said  I,  "  you're  crowned." 

She  put  back  her  head,  and  the  low  laughter  shook 
in  her  throat. 

"  What !  "  she  asked,  putting  all  the  courage  and 
recklessness  she  had  into  the  question,  and  in  her 
soul  trembling. 

"  Not  Chloe,  not  Bacchante.  You  have  always 
got  your  soul  in  your  eyes,  such  an  earnest,  trouble- 
some soul." 


106      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

The  laughter  faded  at  once,  and  her  great  serious- 
ness looked  out  again  at  me,  pleading. 

"  You  are  like  Burne-Jones'  damsels.  Trouble- 
some shadows  are  always  crowding  across  your  eyes, 
and  you  cherish  them.  You  think  the  flesh  of  the 
apple  is  nothing,  nothing.  You  only  care  for  the 
eternal  pips.  Why  don't  you  snatch  your  apple  and 
eat  it,  and  throw  the  core  away  ?  " 

She  looked  at  me  sadly,  not  understanding,  but 
believing  that  I  in  my  wisdom  spoke  truth,  as  she 
always  believed  when  I  lost  her  in  a  maze  of  words. 
She  stooped  down,  and  the  chaplet  fell  from  her  hair, 
and  only  one  bunch  of  berries  remained.  The 
ground  around  us  was  strewn  with  the  four-lipped 
burrs  of  beechnuts,  and  the  quaint  little  nut-pyra- 
mids were  scattered  among  the  ruddy  fallen  leaves. 
Emily  gathered  a  few  nuts. 

"  I  love  beechnuts,"  she  said,  "  but  they  make  me 
long  for  my  childhood  again  till  I  could  almost  cry 
out.  To  go  out  for  beechnuts  before  breakfast;  to 
thread  them  for  necklaces  before  supper; — to  be  the 
envy  of  the  others  at  school  next  day!  There  was 
as  much  pleasure  in  a  beech  necklace  then,  as  there 
is  in  the  whole  autumn  now — and  no  sadness.  There 
are  no  more  unmixed  joys  after  you  have  grown  up." 
She  kept  her  face  to  the  ground  as  she  spoke,  and  she 
continued  to  gather  the  fruits. 

"  Do  you  find  any  with  nuts  in  I  "  I  asked. 

"  Not  many — here — here  are  two,  three.  You 
have  them.     No — I  don't  care  about  them." 

I  stripped  one  of  .its  horny  brown  coat  and  gave 
it  to  her.  She  opened  her  mouth  slightly  to  take  it, 
looking  up  into  my  eyes.     Some  people,  instead  of 


EDUCATION   OF    GEORGE     107 

bringing  with  them  clouds  of  glory,  trail  clouds  of 
sorrow ;  they  are  born  with  "  the  gift  of  sorrow  " ; 
"  sorrows "  they  proclaim  "  alone  are  real.  The 
veiled  grey  angels  of  sorrow  work  out  slowly  the 
beautiful  shapes.  Sorrow  is  beauty,  and  the  supreme 
blessedness."  You  read  it  in  their  eyes,  and  in  the 
tones  of  their  voices.  Emily  had  the  gift  of  sorrow. 
It  fascinated  me,  but  it  drove  me  to  rebellion. 

We  followed  the  soft,  smooth-bitten  turf  road 
under  the  old  beeches.  The  hillside  fell  away,  dis- 
hevelled with  thistles  and  coarse  grass.  Soon  we 
were  in  sight  of  the  Kennels,  the  red  old  Kennels 
which  had  been  the  scene  of  so  much  animation  in 
the  time  of  Lord  Byron.  They  were  empty  now, 
overgrown  with  weeds.  The  barred  windows  of  the 
cottages  were  grey  with  dust ;  there  was  no  need  now 
to  protect  the  windows  from  cattle,  dog  or  man.  One 
of  the  three  houses  was  inhabited.  Clear  water 
trickled  through  a  wooden  runnel  into  a  great  stone 
trough  outside  near  the  door. 

"  Come  here,"  said  I  to  Emily.  "  Let  me  fasten 
the  back  of  your  dress." 

"  Is  it  undone  ? "  she  asked,  looking  quickly  over 
her  shoulder,  and  blushing. 

As  I  was  engaged  in  my  task,  a  girl  came  out  of 
the  cottage  with  a  black  kettle  and  a  tea-cup.  She 
was  so  surprised  to  see  me  thus  occupied,  that  she 
forgot  her  own  duty,  and  stood  open-mouthed. 

"  S'r  Ann !  S'r  Ann,"  called  a  voice  from  inside. 
"  Are  ter  goin'  ter  come  in  an'  shut  that  door  ?  " 

Sarah  Ann  hastily  poured  a  few  cupfuls  of  water 
into  the  kettle,  then  she  put  down  both  utensils,  and 
stood  holding  her  bare  arms  to  warm  them.     Her 


108       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

chief  garment  consisted  of  a  skirt  with  grey  bodice 
and  red  flannel  skirt,  very  much  torn.  Her  black 
hair  hung  in  wild  tails  on  to  her  shoulders. 

"  We  must  go  in  here,"  said  I,  approaching  the 
girl.  She,  however,  hastily  seized  the  kettle  and  ran 
indoors  with  an  "  Oh,  mother !  " 

A  woman  came  to  the  door.  One  breast  was  bare, 
and  hung  over  her  blouse,  which,  like  a  dressing- 
jacket,  fell  loose  over  her  skirt.  Her  fading,  red- 
brown  hair  was  all  frowsy  from  the  bed.  In  the 
folds  of  her  skirt  clung  a  swarthy  urchin  with  a 
shockingly  short  shirt.  He  stared  at  us  with  big 
black  eyes,  the  only  portion  of  his  face  undecorated 
with  egg  and  jam.  The  woman's  blue  eyes  ques- 
tioned us  languidly.     I  told  her  our  errand. 

"  Come  in — come  in,"  she  said,  "  but  dunna  look 
at  th'  'ouse.  Th'  childers  not  been  long  up.  Go  in, 
Billy,  wi'  nowt  on !  " 

We  entered,  taking  the  forgotten  kettle  lid.  The 
kitchen  was  large,  but  scantily  furnished;  save,  in- 
deed, for  children.  The  eldest,  a  girl  of  twelve  or 
so,  was  standing  toasting  a  piece  of  bacon  with  one 
hand,  and  holding  back  her  nightdress  in  the  other. 
As  the  toast  hand  got  scorched,  she  transferred  the 
bacon  to  the  other,  gave  the  hot  fingers  a  lick  to  cool 
them,  and  then  held  back  her  nightdress  again.  Her 
auburn  hair  hung  in  heavy  coils  down  her  gown.  A 
boy  sat  on  the  steel  fender,  catching  the  dropping  fat 
on  a  piece  of  bread.  "  One,  two,  three,  four,  five, 
six  drops,"  and  he  quickly  bit  off  the  tasty  corner, 
and  resumed  the  task  with  the  other  hand.  When 
we  entered  he  tried  to  draw  his  shirt  over  his  knees, 
which  caused  the  fat  to  fall  wasted.    A  fat  baby,  evi- 


EDUCATION   OF   GEORGE     109 

dently  laid  down  from  the  breast,  lay  kicking  on  the 
squab,  purple  in  the  face,  while  another  lad  was 
pushing  bread  and  butter  into  its  mouth.  The 
mother  swept  to  the  sofa,  poked  out  the  bread  and 
butter,  pushed  her  finger  into  the  baby's  throat,  lifted 
the  child  up,  punched  its  back,  and  was  highly  re- 
lieved when  it  began  to  yell.  Then  she  administered 
a  few  sound  spanks  to  the  naked  buttocks  of  the 
crammer.  He  began  to  howl,  but  stopped  suddenly 
on  seeing  us  laughing.  On  the  sack-cloth  which 
served  as  hearth  rug  sat  a  beautiful  child  washing 
the  face  of  a  wooden  doll  with  tea,  and  wiping  it  on 
her  nightgown.  At  the  table,  an  infant  in  a  high 
chair  sat  sucking  a  piece  of  bacon,  till  the  grease  ran 
down  his  swarthy  arms,  oozing  through  his  fingers. 
An  old  lad  stood  in  the  big  arm-chair,  whose  back 
was  hung  with  a  calf-skin,  and  was  industriously 
pouring  the  dregs  of  the  teacups  into  a  basin  of  milk. 
The  mother  whisked  away  the  milk,  and  made  a  rush 
for  the  urchin,  the  baby  hanging  over  her  arm  the 
while. 

"  I  could  half  kill  thee,"  she  said,  but  he  had  slid 
under  the  table, — and  sat  serenely  unconcerned. 

"  Could  you  " — I  asked  when  the  mother  had  put 
her  bonny  baby  again  to  her  breast — "  could  you  lend 
me  a  knitting  needle  ?  " 

"  Our  S'r  Ann,  wheer's  thy  knittin'  needles  ? " 
asked  the  woman,  wincing  at  the  same  time,  and  put- 
ting her  hand  to  the  mouth  of  the  sucking  child. 
Catching  my  eye,  she  said : 

"  You  wouldn't  credit  how  he  bites.  'E's  nobbut 
two  teeth,  but  they  like  six  needles."  She  drew  her 
brows  together,  and  pursed  her  lips,  saying  to  the 


110      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

child,  "  Naughty  lad,  naughty  lad !  Tha'  shanna 
hae  it,  no,  not  if  ter  bites  thy  mother  like  that." 

The  family  interest  was  now  divided  between  us 
and  the  private  concerns  in  process  when  we  entered ; 
— save,  however,  that  the  bacon  sucker  had  sucked 
on  stolidly,  immovable,  all  the  time. 

"  Our  Sam,  wheer's  my  knitting  tha's  'ad  it  ? " 
cried  S'r  Ann  after  a  little  search. 

"  'A  'e  na,"  replied  Sam  from  under  the  table. 

"  Yes,  tha'  'as,"  said  the  mother,  giving  a  blind 
prod  under  the  table  with  her  foot. 

"  'A  'e  na  then !  "  persisted  Sam. 

The  mother  suggested  various  possible  places  of 
discovery,  and  at  last  the  knitting  was  found  at  the 
back  of  the  table  drawer,  among  forks  and  old 
wooden  skewers. 

"  I  'an  ter  tell  yer  wheer  ivrythink  is,"  said  the 
mother  in  mild  reproach.  S'r  Ann,  however,  gave  no 
heed  to  her  parent.  Her  heart  was  torn  for  her  knit- 
ting, the  fruit  of  her  labours;  it  was  a  red  woollen 
cuff  for  the  winter;  a  corkscrew  was  bored  through 
the  web,  and  the  ball  of  red  wool  was  bristling  with 
skewers. 

"  It's  a'  thee,  our  Sam,"  she  wailed.  "  I  know  it's 
a'  thee  an'  thy  A.  B.  C." 

Samuel,  under  the  table,  croaked  out  in  a  voice  of 
fierce  monotony : 

"  P.  is  for  Porkypine,  whose  bristles  so  strong 
Kill  the  bold  lion  by  pricking  'is  tongue." 

The  mother  began  to  shake  with  quiet  laughter. 
"  His  father  learnt  him  that — made  it  all  up,"  she 
whispered  proudly  to  us — and  to  him. 


EDUCATION    OF    GEORGE     111 

*  Tell  us  what '  B  '  is  Sam." 

"  Shonna,"  grunted  Sam. 

"  Go  on,  there's  a  duckie ;  an'  I'll  ma'  'e  a  treacle 
puddin'." 

"  Today? "  asked  S'r  Ann  eagerly. 

"  Go  on,  Sam,  my  duck,"  persisted  the  mother. 

"  Tha'  'as  na  got  no  treacle,"  said  Sam  conclu- 
sively. 

The  needle  was  in  the  fire;  the  children  stood 
about  watching. 

"  Will  you  do  it  yourself? "  I  asked  Emily. 

"  I !  "  she  exclaimed,  with  wide  eyes  of  astonish- 
ment, and  she  shook  her  head  emphatically. 

"  Then  I  must."  I  took  out  the  needle,  holding 
it  in  my  handkerchief.  I  took  her  hand  and  ex- 
amined the  wound.  But  when  she  saw  the  hot  glow 
of  the  needle,  she  snatched  away  her  hand,  and 
looked  into  my  eyes,  laughing  in  a  half-hysterical 
fear  and  shame.  I  was  very  serious,  very  insistent. 
She  yielded  me  her  hand  again,  biting  her  lips  in 
imagination  of  the  pain,  and  looking  at  me.  While 
my  eyes  were  looking  into  hers  she  had  courage; 
when  I  was  forced  to  pay  attention  to  my  cau- 
terising, she  glanced  down,  and  with  a  sharp  "  Ah !  " 
ending  in  a  little  laugh,  she  put  her  hands  behind 
her,  and  looked  again  up  at  me  with  wide 
brown  eyes,  all  quivering  with  apprehension, 
and  a  little  shame,  and  a  laughter  that  held  much 
pleading. 

One  of  the  children  began  to  cry. 

"  It  is  no  good,"  said  I,  throwing  the  fast  cooling 
needle  on  to  the  hearth. 

I  gave  the  girls  all  the  pennies  I  had — then  I  of- 


112       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

fered  Sam,  who  had  crept  out  of  the  shelter  of  the 
table,  a  sixpence. 

"  Shonna  a'e  that,"  he  said,  turning  from  the  small 
coin. 

"  Well — I  have  no  more  pennies,  so  nothing  will 
be  your  share." 

I  gave  the  other  boy  a  rickety  knife  I  had  in  my 
pocket.  Sam  looked  fiercely  at  me.  Eager  for  re- 
venge, he  picked  up  the  "  porkypine  quill "  by  the 
hot  end.  He  dropped  it  with  a  shout  of  rage,  and, 
seizing  a  cup  off  the  table,  flung  it  at  the  fortunate 
Jack.  It  smashed  against  the  fire-place.  The  mother 
grabbed  at  Sam,  but  he  was  gone.  A  girl,  a  little 
girl,  wailed,  "  Oh,  that's  my  rosey  mug — my  rosey 
mug."  We  fled  from  the  scene  of  confusion.  Emily 
had  hardly  noticed  it.  Her  thoughts  were  of  herself, 
and  of  me. 

"  I  am  an  awful  coward,"  said  she  humbly. 

"  But  I  can't  help  it "  she  looked  beseechingly. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  I. 

"  All  my  flesh  seems  to  jump  from  it.  You  don't 
know  how  I  feel." 

"  Well — never  mind." 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,  not  for  my  life." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  I,  "  if  anything  could  possibly 
disturb  that  young  bacon-sucker?  He  didn't  even 
look  round  at  the  smash." 

"  No,"  said  she,  biting  the  tip  of  her  finger 
moodily. 

Further  conversation  was  interrupted  by  howls 
from  the  rear.  Looking  round  we  saw  Sam  career- 
ing after  us  over  the  close-bitten  turf,  howling  scorn 
and  derision  at  us.     "  Kabbit-tail,  rabbit-tail,"  he 


EDUCATION   OF   GEORGE     113 

cried,  his  bare  little  legs  twinkling,  and  his  little 
shirt  fluttering  in  the  cold  morning  air.  Fortu- 
nately, at  last  he  trod  on  a  thistle  or  a  thorn,  for 
when  we  looked  round  again  to  see  why  he  was  silent, 
he  was  capering  on  one  leg,  holding  his  wounded  foot 
in  his  hands. 


CHAPTER  VII 

LETTIE  PULLS  DOWN  THE  SMALL  GOLD  GRAPES 

During  the  falling  of  the  leaves  Lettie  was  very  wil- 
ful. She.  uttered  many  banalities  concerning  men, 
and  love,  and  marriage;  she  taunted  Leslie  and 
thwarted  his  wishes.  At  last  he  stayed  away  from 
her.  She  had  been  several  times  down  to  the  mill, 
but  because  she  fancied  they  were  very  familiar,  re- 
ceiving her  on  to  their  rough  plane  like  one  of  them- 
selves, she  stayed  away.  Since  the  death  of  our 
father  she  had  been  restless ;  since  inheriting  her  lit- 
tle fortune  she  had  become  proud,  scornful,  difficult 
to  please.  Difficult  to  please  in  every  circumstance ; 
she,  who  had  always  been  so  rippling  in  thoughtless 
life,  sat  down  in  the  window  sill  to  think,  and  her 
strong  teeth  bit  at  her  handkerchief  till  it  was  torn 
in  holes.  She  would  say  nothing  to  me ;  she  read  all 
things  that  dealt  with  modern  women. 

One  afternoon  Lettie  walked  over  to  Eberwich. 
Leslie  had  not  been  to  see  us  for  a  fortnight.  It  was 
a  grey,  dree  afternoon.  The  wind  drifted  a  clammy 
fog  across  the  hills,  and  the  roads  were  black  and 
deep  with  mud.  The  trees  in  the  wood  slouched 
sulkily.  It  was  a  day  to  be  shut  out  and  ignored  if 
possible.  I  heaped  up  the  fire,  and  went  to  draw  the 
curtains  and  make  perfect  the  room.  Then  I  saw 
Lettie  coming  along  the  path  quickly,  very  erect. 
When  she  came  in  her  colour  was  high. 

114 


LETTIE  PULLS  THE  GRAPES     115 

"  Tea  not  laid  ?  "  she  said  briefly. 

"  Kebecca  has  just  brought  in  the  lamp,"  said  I. 

Lettie  took  off  her  coat  and  furs,  and  flung  them 
on  the  couch.  She  went  to  the  mirror,  lifted  her 
hair,  all  curled  by  the  fog,  and  stared  haughtily  at 
herself.  Then  she  swung  round,  looked  at  the  bare 
table,  and  rang  the  bell. 

It  was  so  rare  a  thing  for  us  to  ring  the  bell  from 
the  dining-room,  that  Rebecca  went  first  to  the  outer 
door.     Then  she  came  in  the  room  saying: 

"Did  you  ring?" 

"  I  thought  tea  would  have  been  ready,"  said  Let- 
tie  coldly.  Rebecca  looked  at  me,  and  at  her,  and 
replied : 

"  It  is  but  half-past  four.     I  can  bring  it  in." 

Mother  came  down  hearing  the  chink  of  the  tea- 
cups. 

"  Well,"  she  said  to  Lettie,  who  was  unlacing  her 
boots,  "  and  did  you  find  it  a  pleasant  walk  ? " 

"  Except  for  the  mud,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Ah,  I  guess  you  wished  you  had  stayed  at  home. 
What  a  state  for  your  boots ! — and  your  skirts  too,  I 
know.     Here,  let  me  take  them  into  the  kitchen." 

"  Let  Rebecca  take  them,"  said  Lettie — but  mother 
was  out  of  the  room. 

When  mother  had  poured  out  the  tea,  we  sat 
silently  at  table.  It  was  on  the  tip  of  our  tongues  to 
ask  Lettie  what  ailed  her,  but  we  were  experienced 
and  we  refrained.    After  a  while  she  said : 

"  Do  you  know,  I  met  Leslie  Tempest." 

"  Oh,"  said  mother  tentatively,  "  Did  he  come 
along  with  you  ?  " 

"  He  did  not  look  at  me." 


116       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  Oh !  "  exclaimed  mother,  and  it  was  speaking 
volumes ;  then,  after  a  moment,  she  resumed : 

"  Perhaps  he  did  not  see  you." 

"  Or  was  it  a  stony  Britisher  %  "  I  asked. 

"  He  saw  me,"  declared  Lettie,  "  or  he  wouldn't 
have  made  such  a  babyish  show  of  being  delighted 
with  Margaret  Kaymond." 

"  It  may  have  been  no  show — he  still  may  not  have 
seen  you." 

"  I  felt  at  once  that  he  had ;  I  could  see  his  anima- 
tion was  extravagant.  He  need  not  have  troubled 
himself,  I  was  not  going  to  run  after  him." 

"  You  seem  very  cross,"  said  I. 

"  Indeed  I  am  not.  But  he  knew  I  had  to  walk 
all  this  way  home,  and  he  could  take  up  Margaret, 
who  has  only  half  the  distance." 

"Was  he  driving?" 

"  In  the  dog-cart."  She  cut  her  toast  into  strips 
viciously.     We  waited  patiently. 

"  It  was  mean  of  him,  wasn't  it  mother  ?  " 

"  Well,  my  girl,  you  have  treated  him  badly." 

"  What  a  baby !  What  a  mean,  manly  baby !  Men 
are  great  infants." 

"  And  girls,"  said  mother,  "  do  not  know  what 
they  want." 

"  A  grown-up  quality,"  I  added. 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  Lettie,  "  he  is  a  mean  fop, 
and  I  detest  him." 

She  rose  and  sorted  out  some  stitchery.  Lettie 
never  stitched  unless  she  were  in  a  bad  humour. 
Mother  smiled  at  me,  sighed,  and  proceeded  to  Mr. 
Gladstone  for  comfort ;  her  breviary  and  missal  were 
Morley's  Life  of  Gladstone. 


LETTIE  PULLS  THE  GRAPES     117 

"  I  had  to  take  a  letter  to  Highclose  to  Mrs.  Tem- 
pest— from  my  mother,  concerning  a  bazaar  in  pro- 
cess at  the  church.  "  I  will  bring  Leslie  back  with 
me,"  said  I  to  myself. 

The  night  was  black  and  hateful.  The  lamps  by 
the  road  from  Eberwich  ended  at  Kethermere;  their 
yellow  blur  on  the  water  made  the  cold,  wet  inferno 
of  the  night  more  ugly. 

Leslie  and  Marie  were  both  in  the  library — half  a 
library,  half  a  business  office;  used  also  as  a  lounge 
room,  being  cosy.  Leslie  lay  in  a  great  armchair  by 
the  fire,  immune  among  clouds  of  blue  smoke.  Marie 
was  perched  on  the  steps,  a  great  volume  on  her  knee. 
Leslie  got  up  in  his  cloud,  shook  hands,  greeted  me 
curtly,  and  vanished  again.  Marie  smiled  me  a 
quaint,  vexed  smile,  saying: 

"  Oh,  Cyril,  I'm  so  glad  you've  come.  I'm  so 
worried,  and  Leslie  says  he's  not  a  pastry  cook, 
though  I'm  sure  I  don't  want  him  to  be  one,  only  he 
need  not  be  a  bear." 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  " 

She  frowned,  gave  the  big  volume  a  little  smack 
and  said: 

"  Why,  I  do  so  much  want  to  make  some  of  those 
Spanish  tartlets  of  your  mother's  that  are  so  delicious, 
and  of  course  Mabel  knows  nothing  of  them,  and 
they're  not  in  my  cookery  book,  and  I've  looked 
through  page  upon  page  of  the  encyclopedia,  right 
through  *  Spain,'  and  there's  nothing  yet,  and  there 
are  fifty  pages  more,  and  Leslie  won't  help  me, 
though  I've  got  a  headache,  because  he's  frabous 
about  something."  She  looked  at  me  in  comical 
despair. 


118       THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  Do  you  want  them  for  the  bazaar ?  " 

"  Yes — for  to-morrow.  Cook  has  done  the  rest, 
but  I  had  fairly  set  my  heart  on  these.  Don't  you 
think  they  are  lovely  ?  " 

"  Exquisitely  lovely.  Suppose  I  go  and  ask 
mother." 

"  If  you  would.  But  no,  oh  no,  you  can't  make 
all  that  journey  this  terrible  night.  We  are  simply 
besieged  by  mud.  The  men  are  both  out — William 
has  gone  to  meet  father — and  mother  has  sent  George 
to  carry  some  things  to  the  vicarage.  I  can't  ask  one 
of  the  girls  on  a  night  like  this.  I  shall  have  to  let 
it  go — and  the  cranberry  tarts  too — it  cannot  be 
helped.    I  am  so  miserable." 

"  Ask  Leslie,"  said  I. 

"  He  is  too  cross,"  she  replied,  looking  at  him. 

He  did  not  deign  a  remark. 

"Will  you  Leslie?" 

"What?" 

"  Go  across  to  Woodside  for  me  ?  " 

"What  for?" 

"  A  recipe.     Do,  there's  a  dear  boy." 

"  Where  are  the  men  ?  " 

"  They  are  both  engaged — they  are  out." 

"  Send  a  girl,  then." 

"  At  night  like  this  ?     Who  would  go  ?  " 

"  Cissy." 

"  I  shall  not  ask  her.  Isn't  he  mean,  Cyril  ?  Men 
are  mean." 

"  I  will  come  back,"  said  I.  "  There  is  nothing  at 
home  to  do.  Mother  is  reading,  and  Lettie  is  stitch- 
ing. The  weather  disagrees  with  her,  as  it  does  with 
Leslie." 


LETTIE  PULLS  THE  GRAPES     119 

"  But  it  is  not  fair "  she  said,  looking  at  me 

softly.  Then  she  put  away  the  great  book,  and 
climbed  down. 

"  Won't  you  go,  Leslie  ?  "  she  said,  laying  her  hand 
on  his  shoulder. 

"  Women ! "  he  said,  rising  as  if  reluctantly. 
"  There's  no  end  to  their  wants  and  their  caprices." 

"  I  thought  he  would  go,"  said  she  warmly.  She 
ran  to  fetch  his  overcoat.  He  put  one  arm  slowly 
in  the  sleeve,  and  then  the  other,  but  he  would  not 
lift  the  coat  on  to  his  shoulders. 

"  Well !  "  she  said,  struggling  on  tiptoe,  "  You  are 
a  great  creature!  Can't  you  get  it  on,  naughty 
child?" 

"  Give  her  a  chair  to  stand  on,"  he  said. 

She  shook  the  collar  of  the  coat  sharply,  but  he 
stood  like  a  sheep,  impassive. 

"  Leslie,  you  are  too  bad.  I  can't  get  it  on,  you 
stupid  boy." 

I  took  the  coat  and  jerked  it  on. 

"  There,"  she  said,  giving  him  his  cap.  "  Now 
don't  be  long." 

"  What  a  damned  dirty  night !  "  said  he,  when  we 
were  out. 

"  It  is,"  said  I. 

"  The  town,  anywhere's  better  than  this  hell  of  a 
country." 

"  Ha !     How  did  you  enjoy  yourself  %  " 

He  began  a  long  history  of  three  days  in  the 
metropolis.  I  listened,  and  heard  little.  I  heard 
more  plainly  the  cry  of  some  night  birds  over 
Nethermere,  and  the  peevish,  wailing,  yarling  cry 
of   some   beast   in   the  wood.      I   was   thankful   to 


120       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

slam  the  door  behind  me,  to  stand  in  the  light  of 
the  hall. 

"  Leslie !  "  exclaimed  mother,  "  I  am  glad  to  see 
you." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  turning  to  Lettie,  who  sat 
with  her  lap  full  of  work,  her  head  busily  bent. 

"  You  see  I  can't  get  up,"  she  said,  giving  him 
her  hand,  adorned  as  it  was  by  the  thimble.  "  How 
nice  of  you  to  come!  We  did  not  know  you  were 
back." 

"  But !  "  he  exclaimed,  then  he  stopped. 

"  I  suppose  you  enjoyed  yourself,"  she  went  on 
calmly. 

"  Immensely,  thanks." 

Snap,  snap,  snap;  went  her  needle  through  the 
new  stuff.     Then,  without  looking  up,  she  said : 

"  Yes,  no  doubt.  You  have  the  dir  of  a  man  who 
has  been  enjoying  himself." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  A  kind  of  guilty — or  shall  I  say  embarrassed — 
look.     Don't  you  notice  it  mother  ?  " 

"  I  do !  "  said  my  mother. 

"  I  suppose  it  means  we  may  not  ask  him  ques- 
tions," Lettie  concluded,  always  very  busily  sewing. 

He  laughed.  She  had  broken  her  cotton,  and  was 
trying  to  thread  the  needle  again. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  this  miserable 
weather  ?  "  he  enquired  awkwardly. 

"  Oh,  we  have  sat  at  home  desolate.  '  Ever  of  thee 
I'm  fo-o-ondly  dreeaming  ' — and  so  on.  Haven't  we 
mother  ?  " 

"Well,"  said  mother,  "I  don't  know.  We 
imagined  him  all  sorts  of  lions  up  there," 


LETTIE  PULLS  THE  GRAPES     121 

"  What  a  shame  we  may  not  ask  him  to  roar  his  old 
roars  over  for  us,"  said  Lettie. 

"  What  are  they  like  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  Like  a  sucking  dove,  to 
judge  from  your  present  voice.  '  A  monstrous  little 
voice/  " 

He  laughed  uncomfortably. 

She  went  on  sewing,  suddenly  beginning  to  sing  to 
herself : 

*  Pussy  cat,  Pussy  cat,  where  have  you  been  ? 
Pve  been  up  to  London  to  see  the  fine  queen : 

Pussy  cat,  Pussy  cat,  what  did  you  there 

I  frightened  a  little  mouse  under  a  stair." 


"  I  suppose,"  she  added,  "  that  may  be  so.  Poor 
mouse ! — but  I  guess  she's  none  the  worse.  You  did 
not  see  the  queen,  though  ?  " 

"  She  was  not  in  London,"  he  replied,  sarcastically. 

"  You  don't "  she  said,  taking  two  pins  from 

between  her  teeth.  "  I  suppose  you  don't  mean  by 
that,  she  was  in  Eberwich — your  queen  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  where  she  was,"  he  answered 
angrily. 

"  Oh !  "  she  said,  very  sweetly,  "  I  thought  perhaps 
you  had  met  her  in  Eberwich.  When  did  you  come 
back?" 

"  Last  night,"  he  replied. 

"  Oh — why  didn't  you  come  and  see  us  before  ?  " 

"  I've  been  at  the  offices  all  day." 

"  I've  been  up  to  Eberwich,"  she  said  innocently. 

"  Have  you  ?  " 

"  Yes.     And   I  feel   so  cross  because  of  it.     I 


122      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

thought  I  might  see  you.  I  felt  as  if  you  were  at 
home." 

She  stitched  a  little,  and  glanced  up  secretly  to 
watch  his  face  redden,  then  she  continued  innocently, 
"  Yes — I  felt  you  had  come  back.  It  is  funny  how 
one  has  a  feeling  occasionally  that  someone  is  near; 
when  it  is  someone  one  has  a  sympathy  with."  She 
continued  to  stitch,  then  she  took  a  pin  from  her 
bosom,  and  fixed  her  work,  all  without  the  least  suspi- 
cion of  guile. 

"  I  thought  I  might  meet  you  when  I  was  out " 

another  pause,  another  fixing,  a  pin  to  be  taken  from 
her  lips—"  but  I  didn't." 

"  I  was  at  the  office  till  rather  late,"  he  said 
quickly. 

She  stitched  away  calmly,  provokingly. 

She  took  the  pin  from  her  mouth  again,  fixed  down 
a  fold  of  stuff,  and  said  softly: 

"  You  little  liar." 

Mother  had  gone  out  of  the  room  for  her  recipe 
book. 

He  sat  on  his  chair  dumb  with  mortification.  She 
stitched  swiftly  and  unerringly.  There  was  silence 
for  some  moments.     Then  he  spoke : 

"  I  did  not  know  you  wanted  me  for  the  pleasure 
of  plucking  this  crow,"  he  said. 

"  I  wanted  you !  "  she  exclaimed,  looking  up  for 
the  first  time,  "  Who  said  I  wanted  you  ?  " 

"  No  one.     If  you  didn't  want  me  I  may  as  well 

go." 

The  sound  of  stitching  alone  broke  the  silence  for 
some  moments,  then  she  said  deliberately : 

"  What  made  you  think  I  wanted  you  ?  " 


LETTIE  PULLS  THE  GRAPES     123 

"  I  don't  care  a  damn  whether  you  wanted  me,  or 
whether  you  didn't." 

"  It  seems  to  upset  you !  And  don't  use  bad  lan- 
guage. It  is  the  privilege  of  those  near  and  dear  to 
one." 

"  That's  why  you  begin  it,  I  suppose." 

"  I  cannot  remember -"  she  said,  loftily. 

He  laughed  sarcastically. 

"  Well — if  you're  so  beastly  cut  up  about  it- 


He  put  this  tentatively,  expecting  the  soft  answer. 
But  she  refused  to  speak,  and  went  on  stitching.  He 
fidgeted  about,  twisted  his  cap  uncomfortably,  and 
sighed.     At  last  he  said : 

"  Well — you — have  we  done  then  ?  " 

She  had  the  vast  superiority,  in  that  she  was 
engaged  in  ostentatious  work.  She  could  fix  the 
cloth,  regard  it  quizzically,  re-arrange  it,  settle  down 
and  begin  to  sew  before,  she  replied.  This  humbled 
him.     At  last  she  said : 

"  I  thought  so  this  afternoon." 

"  But,  good  God,  Lettie,  can't  you  drop  it  ?  " 

"  And  then  ?  " — the  question  startled  him. 

«  Why !— forget  it,"  he  replied. 

"  Well  ?  " — she  spoke  softly,  gently.  He  answered 
to  the  call  like  an  eager  hound.  He  crossed  quickly 
to  her  side  as  she  sat  sewing,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice : 

"  You  do  care  something  for  me,  don't  you,  Let- 
tie?" 

"  Well," — it  was  modulated  kindly,  a  sort  of  prom- 
ise of  assent. 

"  You  have  treated  me  rottenly,  you  know,  haven't 
you  ?     You  know  I — well,  I  care  a  good  bit." 

"  It  is  a  queer  way  of  showing  it."     Her  voice  was 


124      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

now  a  gentle  reproof,  the  sweetest  of  surrenders  and 
forgiveness.  He  leaned  forward,  took  her  face  in  his 
hands,  and  kissed  her,  murmuring: 

"  You  are  a  little  tease." 

She  laid  her  sewing  in  her  lap,  and  looked  up. 

The  next  day,  Sunday,  broke  wet  and  dreary. 
Breakfast  was  late,  and  about  ten  o'clock  we  stood 
at  the  window  looking  upon  the  impossibility  of  our 
going  to  church. 

There  was  a  driving  drizzle  of  rain,  like  a  dirty 
curtain  before  the  landscape.  The  nasturtium  leaves 
by  the  garden  walk  had  gone  rotten  in  a  frost,  and 
the  gay  green  discs  had  given  place  to  the  first  black 
flags  of  winter,  hung  on  flaccid  stalks,  pinched  at  the 
neck.  The  grass  plot  was  strewn  with  fallen  leaves, 
wet  and  brilliant :  scarlet  splashes  of  Virginia  creeper, 
golden  drift  from  the  limes,  ruddy  brown  shawls 
under  the  beeches,  and  away  back  in  the  corner,  the 
black  mat  of  maple  leaves,  heavy  soddened;  they 
ought  to  have  been  a  vivid  lemon  colour.  Occasionally 
one  of  these  great  black  leaves  would  loose  its  hold, 
and  zigzag  down,  staggering  in  the  dance  of  death. 

"  There  now !  "  said  Lettie  suddenly. 

I  looked  up  in  time  to  see  a  crow  close  his  wings 
and  clutch  the  topmost  bough  of  an  old  grey  holly 
tree  on  the  edge  of  the  clearing.  He  flapped  again, 
recovered  his  balance,  and  folded  himself  up  in  black 
resignation  to  the  detestable  weather. 

"  Why  has  the  old  wretch  settled  just  over  our 
noses,"  said  Lettie  petulantly.  "  Just  to  blot  the 
promise  of  a  sorrow." 

"  Your's  or  mine  ?  "  I  asked. 


LETTIE  PULLS  THE   GRAPES     125 

"  He  is  looking  at  me,  I  declare." 

"  You  can  see  the  wicked  pupil  of  his  eye  at  this 
distance,"  I  insinuated. 

"  Well,"  she  replied,  determined  to  take  this  omen 
unto  herself.     "  I  saw  him  first." 

" l  One  for  sorrow,  two  for  joy, 
Three  for  a  letter,  four  for  a  boy, 
Five  for  silver,  six  for  gold, 
And  seven  for  a  secret  never  told/ 

— You  may  bet  he's  only  a  messenger  in  advance. 
There'll  be  three  more  shortly,  and  you'll  have  your 
four,"  said  I,  comforting. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  it  is  very  funny, 
but  whenever  I've  particularly  noticed  one  crow,  I've 
had  some  sorrow  or  other." 

"  And  when  you  notice  four  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  You  should  have  heard  old  Mrs.  Wagstaffe," 
was  her  reply.  "  She  declares  an  old  crow  croaked  in 
their  apple  tree  every  day  for  a  week  before  Jerry 
got  drowned." 

"  Great  sorrow  for  her,"  I  remarked. 

"  Oh,  but  she  wept  abundantly.  I  felt  like  weep- 
ing too,  but  somehow  I  laughed.  She  hoped  he  had 
gone  to  heaven — but — I'm  sick  of  that  word  '  but ' 
— it  is  always  tangling  one's  thoughts." 

"  But,  Jerry !  "  I  insisted. 

"  Oh,  she  lifted  up  her  forehead,  and  the  tears 
dripped  off  her  nose.  He  must  have  been  an  old 
nuisance,  Syb.  I  can't  understand  why  women  marry 
such  men.  I  felt  downright  glad  to  think  of  the 
drunken  old  wretch  toppling  into  the  canal  out  of  the 
way." 


126       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

• 

She  pulled  the  thick  curtain  across  the  window,  and 
nestled  down  in  it,  resting  her  cheek  against  the  edge, 
protecting  herself  from  the  cold  window  pane.  The 
wet,  grey  wind  shook  the  half  naked  trees,  whose 
leaves  dripped  and  shone  sullenly.  Even  the  trunks 
were  blackened,  trickling  with  the  rain  which  drove 
persistently. 

Whirled  down  the  sky  like  black  maple  leaves 
caught  up  aloft,  came  two  more  crows.  They  swept 
down  and  clung  hold  of  the  trees  in  front  of  the 
house,  staying  near  the  old  forerunner.  Lettie 
watched  them,  half  amused,  half  melancholy.  One 
bird  was  carried  past.  He  swerved  round  and  began 
to  battle  up  the  wind,  rising  higher,  and  rowing 
laboriously  against  the  driving  wet  current. 

"  Here  comes  your  fourth,"  said  I. 

She  did  not  answer,  but  continued  to  watch.  The 
bird  wrestled  heroically,  but  the  wind  pushed  him 
aside,  tilted  him,  caught  under  his  broad  wings  and 
bore  him  down.  He  swept  in  level  flight  down  the 
stream,  outspread  and  still,  as  if  fixed  in  despair.  I 
grieved  for  him.  Sadly  two  of  his  fellows  rose  and 
were  carried  away  after  him,  like  souls  hunting  for 
a  body  to  inhabit,  and  despairing.  Only  the  first 
ghoul  was  left  on  the  withered,  silver-grey  skeleton 
of  the  holly. 

"  He  won't  even  say  '  Nevermore/  "  I  remarked. 

"  He  has  more  sense,"  replied  Lettie.  She  looked 
a  trifle  lugubrious.  Then  she  continued :  "  Better  say 
'  Nevermore  '  than  '  Evermore.'  " 

"Why?"  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.     Fancy  this  '  Evermore.'  " 

She  had  been  sure  in  her  own  soul  that  Leslie  would 


LETTIE  PULLS  THE  GRAPES     127 

come — now  she  began  to  doubt: — things  were  very 
perplexing. 

The  bell  in  the  kitchen  jangled ;  she  jumped  up.  I 
went  and  opened  the  door.  He  came  in.  She  gave 
him  one  bright  look  of  satisfaction.  He  saw  it,  and 
understood. 

"  Helen  has  got  some  people  over — I  have  been 
awfully  rude  to  leave  them  now,"  he  said  quietly. 

"  What  a  dreadful  day !  "  said  mother. 

"  Oh,  fearful !  Your  face  is  red,  Lettie !  What 
have  you  been  doing  ?  " 

"  Looking  into  the  fire." 

"What  did  you  see?" 

"  The  pictures  wouldn't  come  plain — nothing." 

He  laughed.     We  were  silent  for  some  time. 

"  You  were  expecting  me  ?  "  he  murmured. 

"  Yes — I  knew  you'd  come." 

They  were  left  alone.  He  came  up  to  her  and 
put  his  arm  around  her,  as  she  stood  with  her  olbow 
on  the  mantelpiece. 

"  You  do  want  me,"  he  pleaded  softly. 

"  Yes,"  she  murmured. 

He  held  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  repeat- 
edly, again  and  again,  till  she  was  out  of  breath, 
and  put  up  her  hand,  and  gently  pushed  her  face 
away. 

"  You  are  a  cold  little  lover — you  are  a  shy  bird," 
he  said,  laughing  into  her  eyes.  He  saw  her  tears 
rise,  swimming  on  her  lids,  but  not  falling. 

"  Why,  my  love,  my  darling — why !  " — he  put  his 
face  to  her's,  and  took  the  tear  on  his  cheek : 

"  I  know  you  love  me,"  he  said,  gently,  all  tender- 


128      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

"  Do  you  know,"  lie  murmured.  "  I  can  positively 
feel  the  tears  rising  up  from  my  heart  and  throat. 
They  are  quite  painful  gathering,  my  love.  There — 
you  can  do  anything  with  me." 

They  were  silent  for  some  time.  After  a  while, 
a  rather  long  while,  she  came  upstairs  and  found 
mother — and  at  the  end  of  some  minutes  I  heard  my 
mother  go  to  him. 

I  sat  by  my  window  and  watched  the  low  clouds 
reel  and  stagger  past.  It  seemed  as  if  everything 
were  being  swept  along — I  myself  seemed  to  have 
lost  my  substance,  to  have  become  detached  from 
concrete  things  and  the  firm  trodden  pavement  of 
everyday  life.  Onward,  always  onward,  not  knowing 
where,  nor  why,  the  wind,  the  clouds,  the  rain  and 
the  birds  and  the  leaves,  everything  whirling  along — 
why? 

All  this  time  the  old  crow  sat  motionless,  though 
the  clouds  tumbled,  and  were  rent  and  piled,  though 
the  trees  bent,  and  the  window-pane  shivered  with 
running  water.  Then  I  found  it  had  ceased  to  rain ; 
that  there  was  a  sickly  yellow  gleam  of  sunlight, 
brightening  on  some  great  elm-leaves  near  at  hand  till 
they  looked  like  ripe  lemons  hanging.  The  crow 
looked  at  me — I  was  certain  he  looked  at  me. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  all  ?  "  I  asked  him. 

He  eyed  me  with  contempt :  great  f eatherless,  half 
winged  bird  as  I  was,  incomprehensible,  contemptible, 
but  awful.     I  believe  he  hated  me. 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  if  a  raven  could  answer,  why 
won't  you  ?  " 

He  looked  wearily  away.  Nevertheless  my  gaze 
disquieted  him.     He  turned  uneasily ;  he  rose,  waved 


LETTIE  PULLS  THE   GRAPES     129 

his  wings  as  if  for  flight,  poised,  then  settled  defi- 
antly down  again. 

"  You  are  no  good,"  said  I,  "  you  won't  help  even 
with  a  word." 

He  sat  stolidly  unconcerned.  Then  I  heard  the 
lapwings  in  the  meadow  crying,  crying.  They 
seemed  to  seek  the  storm,  yet  to  rail  at  it.  They 
wheeled  in  the  wind,  yet  never  ceased  to  complain  of 
it.  They  enjoyed  the  struggle,  and  lamented  it  in 
wild  lament,  through  which  came  a  sound  of  exul- 
tation. All  the  lapwings  cried,  cried  the  same  tale, 
"  Bitter,  bitter,  the  struggle — for  nothing,  nothing, 
nothing," — and  all  the  time  they  swung  about  on 
their  broad  wings,  revelling. 

"  There,"  said  I  to  the  crow,  "  they  try  it,  and  find 
it  bitter,  but  they  wouldn't  like  to  miss  it,  to  sit  still 
like  you,  you  old  corpse." 

He  could  not  endure  this.  He  rose  in  defiance, 
flapped  his  wings,  and  launched  off,  uttering  one 
"  Caw  "  of  sinister  foreboding.  He  was  soon  whirled 
away. 

I  discovered  that  I  was  very  cold,  so  I  went  down- 
stairs. 

Twisting  a  curl  round  his  finger,  one  of  those 
loose  curls  that  always  dance  free  from  the  captured) 
hair,  Leslie  said : 

"  Look  how  fond  your  hair  is  of  me ;  look  how  it 
twines  round  my  finger.  Do  you  know,  your  hair — 
the  light  in  it  is  like — oh — buttercups  in  the  sun." 

"  It  is  like  me — it  won't  be  kept  in  bounds,"  she 
replied. 

"  Shame  if  it  were — like  this,  it  brushes  my  face — 
so — and  sets  me  tingling  like  music." 


130       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  Behave !  Now  be  still,  and  I'll  tell  you  what  sort 
of  music  you  make." 

"  Oh— well— tell  me." 

"  Like  the  calling  of  throstles  and  blackies,  in  the 
evening,  frightening  the  pale  little  wood-anemones, 
till  they  run  panting  and  swaying  right  up  to  our 
wall.  Like  the  ringing  of  bluebells  when  the  bees 
are  at  them;  like  Hippomenes,  out-of -breath,  laugh- 
ing because  he'd  won." 

He  kissed  her  with  rapturous  admiration. 

"  Marriage  music,  sir,"  she  added. 

"  What  golden  apples  did  I  throw  ? "  he  asked 
lightly. 

"  What !  "  she  exclaimed,  half  mocking. 

"  This  Atalanta,"  he  replied,  looking  lovingly  upon 
her,  "  this  Atalanta — I  believe  she  just  lagged  at  last 
on  purpose." 

"  You  have  it,"  she  cried,  laughing,  submitting 
to  his  caresses.  "  It  was  you — the  apples  of  your  firm 
heels — the  apples  of  your  eyes — the  apples  Eve  bit 
— that  won  me — hein !  " 

"  That  was  it — you  are  clever,  you  are  rare.  And 
I've  won,  won  the  ripe  apples  of  your  cheeks,  and 
your  breasts,  and  your  very  fists — they  can't  stop  me 
— and — and — all  your  roundness  and  warmness  and 
softness — I've  won  you,  Lettie." 

She  nodded  wickedly,  saying: 

"  All  those — those — yes." 

"  All — she  admits  it — everything !  " 

"  Oh ! — but  let  me  breathe.  Did  you  claim  every- 
thing?" 

"  Yes,  and  you  gave  it  me." 

"  Not  yet.     Everything  though  ?  " 


LETTIE  PULLS  THE  GRAPES    131 

"  Every  atom." 

"  But — now  you  look " 

"Did  I  look  aside?" 

"  With  the  inward  eye.  Suppose  now  we  were 
two  angels " 

"  Oh,  dear — a  sloppy  angel !  " 

"  Well — don't  interrupt  now — suppose  I  were  one 
— like  the  '  Blessed  Damosel.'  " 

a  With  a  warm  bosom !  " 

"  Don't  be  foolish,  now — I  a  i  Blessed  Damosel ' 
and  you  kicking  the  brown  beech  leaves  below  think- 
ing » 

u  What  are  you  driving  at  ?  " 

"  Would  you  be  thinking — thoughts  like  prayers  ?  " 

u  What  on  earth  do  you  ask  that  for  ?  Oh — I 
think  I'd  be  cursing — eh  ?  " 

"  No — saying  fragrant  prayers — that  your  thin 
soul  might  mount  up " 

"  Hang  thin  souls,  Lettie !  I'm  not  one  or  your 
souly  sort.  I  can't  stand  Pre-Baphaelities.  You — 
You're  not  a  Burne-Jonesess — you're  an  Albert 
Moore.  I  think  there's  more  in  the  warm  touch  of 
a  soft  body  than  in  a  prayer.     I'll  pray  with  kisses." 

"  And  when  you  can't  ?  " 

"  I'll  wait  till  prayer-time  again.  By  Jove,  I'd 
rather  feel  my  arms  full  of  you ;  I'd  rather  touch  that 
red  mouth — you  grudger! — than  sing  hymns  with 
you  in  any  heaven." 

"  I'm  afraid  you'll  never  sing  hymns  with  me  in 
heaven." 

"  Well — I  have  you  here — yes,  I  have  you  now." 

u  Our  life  is  but  a  fading  dawn  ?  " 

"  Liar ! — Well,  you  called  me !     Besides,  I  don't 


132       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

care ;  '  Carpe  diem/  my  rosebud,  my  fawn.  There's 
a  nice  Carmen  about  a  fawn.  '  Time  to  leave  its 
mother,  and  venture  into  a  warm  embrace. '  Poor 
old  Horace — I've  forgotten  him." 

u  Then  poor  old  Horace." 

"  Ha !  Ha !— Well,  I  shan't  forget  you.  What's 
that  queer  look  in  your  eyes  ? " 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Nay — you  tell  me.  You  are  such  a  tease,  there's 
no  getting  to  the  bottom  of  you." 

"  You  can  fathom  the  depth  of  a  kiss " 

"  I  will— I  will " 

After  a  while  he  asked : 

"  When  shall  we  be  properly  engaged,  Lettie  ?  " 

"  Oh,  wait  till  Christmas — till  I  am  twenty-one." 

"  Nearly  three  months !     Why  on  earth !  " 

"  It  will  make  no  difference.  I  shall  be  able  to 
choose  thee  of  my  own  free  choice  then." 

"  But  three  months !  " 

"  I  shall  consider  thee  engaged — it  doesn't  matter 
about  other  people." 

"  I  thought  we  should  be  married  in  three  months." 

"  Ah — married  in  haste .     But  what  will  your 

mother  say  ? " 

"  Say !  Oh,  she'll  say  it's  the  first  wise  thing  I've 
done.  You'll  make  a  fine  wife,  Lettie,  able  to  enter- 
tain, and  all  that." 

"  You  will  flutter  brilliantly." 

"  We  will." 

"  No — you'll  be  the  moth — I'll  paint  your  wings — 
gaudy  feather-dust.  Then  when  you  lose  your  col- 
oured dust,  when  you  fly  too  near  the  light,  or  when 
you  play  dodge  with  a  butterfly  net — away  goes  my 


LETTIE  PULLS  THE  GRAPES    133 

part — you  can't  fly — I — alas,  poor  me!  What  be- 
comes of  the  feather-dust  when  the  moth  brushes  his 
wings  against  a  butterfly  net  ?  " 

"  What  are  you  making  so  many  words  about  ? 
You  don't  know  now,  do  you  \  " 

"  No— that  I  don't." 

"  Then  just  be  comfortable.  Let  me  look  at  my- 
self in  your  eyes." 

"  Narcissus,  Narcissus ! — Do  you  see  yourself  well  ? 
Does  the  image  flatter  you? — Or  is  it  a  troubled 
stream,  distorting  your  fair  lineaments." 

"  I  can't  see  anything — only  feel  you  looking — 
you  are  laughing  at  me — What  have  you  behind  there 
— what  joke  ?  " 

"  I — I'm  thinking  you're  just  like  Narcissus — a 
sweet,  beautiful  youth." 

"  Be  serious — do." 

"  It  would  be  dangerous.  You'd  die  of  it,  and  I — 
I  should " 

"What!" 

"  Be  just  like  I  am  now — serious." 

He  looked  proudly,  thinking  she  referred  to  the 
earnestness  of  her  love. 


In  the  wood  the  wind  rumbled  and  roared  hoarsely 
overhead,  but  not  a  breath  stirred  among  the  saddened 
bracken.  An  occasional  raindrop  was  shaken  out 
of  the  trees ;  I  slipped  on  the  wet  paths.  Black  bars 
striped  the  grey  tree-trunks,  where  water  had  trickled 
down ;  the  bracken  was  overthrown,  its  yellow  ranks 
broken.  I  slid  down  the  steep  path  to  the  gate,  out 
of  the  wood. 


134       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

Armies  of  cloud  marched  in  rank  across  the  sky, 
heavily  laden,  almost  brushing  the  gorse  on  the  com- 
mon. The  wind  was  cold  and  disheartening.  The 
ground  sobbed  at  every  step.  The  brook  was  full, 
swirling  along,  hurrying,  talking  to  itself,  in  ab- 
sorbed intent  tones.  The  clouds  darkened ;  I  felt  the 
rain.  Careless  of  the  mud,  I  ran,  and  burst  into  the 
farm  kitchen. 

The  children  were  painting,  and  they  immediately 
claimed  my  help. 

"  Emily — and  George — are  in  the  front  room," 
said  the  mother,  quietly,  for  it  was  Sunday  afternoon. 
I  satisfied  the  little  ones  j  I  said  a  few  words  to  the 
mother,  and  sat  down  to  take  off  my  clogs. 

In  the  parlour,  the  father,  big  and  comfortable,  was 
sleeping  in  an  arm-chair.  Emily  was  writing  at  the 
table — she  hurriedly  hid  her  papers  when  I  entered. 
George  was  sitting  by  the  fire,  reading.  He  looked 
up  as  I  entered,  and  I  loved  him  when  he  looked  up 
at  me,  and  as  he  lingered  on  his  quiet  "  Hullo !  " 
His  eyes  were  beautifully  eloquent — as  eloquent  as 
a  kiss. 

We  talked  in  subdued  murmurs,  because  the  father 
was  asleep,  opulently  asleep,  his  tanned  face  as  still 
as  a  brown  pear  against  the  wall.  The  clock  itself 
went  slowly,  with  languid  throbs.  We  gathered 
round  the  fire,  and  talked  quietly,  about  nothing — 
blissful  merely  in  the  sound  of  our  voices,  a  mur- 
mured, soothing  sound — a  grateful,  dispassionate  love 
trio. 

At  last  George  rose,  put  down  his  book — looked  at 
his  father — and  went  out. 

In  the  barn  there  was  a  sound  of  the  pulper  crunch- 


LETTIE  PULLS  THE  GRAPES     135 

ing  the  turnips.  The  crisp  strips  of  turnip  sprinkled 
quietly  down  onto  a  heap  of  gold  which  grew  beneath 
the  pulper.  The  smell  of  pulped  turnips,  keen  and 
sweet,  brings  back  to  me  the  feeling  of  many  winter 
nights,  when  frozen  hoof-prints  crunch  in  the  yard, 
and  Orion  is  in  the  south ;  when  a  friendship  was  at 
its  mystical  best. 

"  Pulping  on  Sunday !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Father  didn't  do  it  yesterday ;  it's  his  work ;  and 
I  didn't  notice  it.  You  know — Father  often  forgets 
— he  doesn't  like  to  have  to  work  in  the  afternoon, 
now." 

The  cattle  stirred  in  their  stalls ;  the  chains  rattled 
round  the  posts;  a  cow  coughed  noisily.  When 
George  had  finished  pulping,  and  it  was  quiet  enough 
for  talk,  just  as  he  was  spreading  the  first  layers  of 
chop  and  turnip  and  meal — in  ran  Emily,  with  her 
hair  in  silken,  twining  confusion,  her  eyes  glowing — 
to  bid  us  go  in  to  tea  before  the  milking  was  begun. 
It  was  the  custom  to  milk  before  tea  on  Sunday — but 
George  abandoned  it  without  demur — his  father 
willed  it  so,  and  his  father  was  master,  not  to  be 
questioned  on  farm  matters,  however  one  disagreed. 

The  last  day  in  October  had  been  dreary  enough ; 
the  night  could  not  come  too  early.  We  had  tea  by 
lamplight,  merrily,  with  the  father  radiating  comfort 
as  the  lamp  shone  yellow  light.  Sunday  tea  was  im- 
perfect without  a  visitor;  with  me,  they  always  de- 
clared, it  was  perfect.  I  loved  to  hear  them  say  so. 
I  smiled,  rejoicing  quietly  into  my  teacup  when  the 
Father  said : 

"  It  seems  proper  to  have  Cyril  here  at  Sunday  tea, 
it  seems  natural." 


136      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

He  was  most  loath  to  break  the  delightful  bond 
of  the  lamp-lit  tea-table;  he  looked  up  with  a  half- 
appealing  glance  when  George  at  last  pushed  back 
his  chair  and  said  he  supposed  he'd  better  make  a 
start. 

"  Ay,"  said  the  father  in  a  mild,  conciliatory  tone, 
"  I'll  be  out  in  a  minute." 

The  lamp  hung  against  the  barn-wall,  softly  illumi- 
nating the  lower  part  of  the  building,  where  bits  of 
hay  and  white  dust  lay  in  the  hollows  between  the 
bricks,  where  the  curled  chips  of  turnip  scattered 
orange  gleams  over  the  earthen  floor;  the  lofty  roof, 
with  its  swallows'  nests  under  the  tiles,  was  deep  in 
shadow,  and  the  corners  were  full  of  darkness,  hid- 
ing, half  hiding,  the  hay,  the  chopper,  the  bins.  The 
light  shone  along  the  passages  before  the  stalls,  glis- 
tening on  the  moist  noses  of  the  cattle,  and  on  the 
whitewash  of  the  walls. 

George  was  very  cheerful;  but  I  wanted  to  tell 
him  my  message.  When  he  had  finished  the  feed- 
ing, and  had  at  last  sat  down  to  milk,  I  said : 

"  I  told  you  Leslie  Tempest  was  at  our  house  when 
I  came  away." 

He  sat  with  the  bucket  between  his  knees,  his  hands 
at  the  cow's  udder,  about  to  begin  to  milk.  He  looked 
up  a  question  at  me. 

"  They  are  practically  engaged  now,"  I  said. 

He  did  not  turn  his  eyes  away,  but  he  ceased  to 
look  at  me.  As  one  who  is  listening  for  a  far-off 
noise,  he  sat  with  his  eyes  fixed.  Then  he  bent  his 
head,  and  leaned  it  against  the  side  of  the  cow,  as 
if  he  would  begin  to  milk.  But  he  did  not.  The 
cow  looked  round  and  stirred  uneasily.     He  began  to 


LETTIE  PULLS  THE  GRAPES     137 

draw  the  milk,  and  then  to  milk  mechanically.  I 
watched  the  movement  of  his  hands,  listening  to  the 
rhythmic  clang  of  the  jets  of  milk  on  the  bucket,  as  a 
relief.  After  a  while  the  movement  of  his  hands  be- 
came slower,  thoughtful — then  stopped. 

"  She  has  really  said  yes  ?  " 

I  nodded. 

"  And  what  does  your  mother  say  ?  " 

"  She  is  pleased." 

He  began  to  milk  again.  The  cow  stirred  un- 
easily, shifting  her  legs.  He  looked  at  her  angrily, 
and  went  on  milking.  Then,  quite  -upset,  she  shifted 
again,  and  swung  her  tail  in  his  face. 

"  Stand  still !  "  he  shouted,  striking  her  on  the 
haunch.  She  seemed  to  cower  like  a  beaten  woman. 
He  swore  at  her,  and  continued  to  milk.  She  did 
not  yield  much  that  night;  she  was  very  restive;  he 
took  the  stool  from  beneath  him  and  gave  her  a  good 
blow ;  I  heard  the  stool  knock  on  her  prominent  hip 
bone.  After  that  she  stood  still,  but  her  milk  soon 
ceased  to  flow. 

When  he  stood  up,  he  paused  before  he  went  to 
the  next  beast,  and  I  thought  he  was  going  to  talk. 
But  just  then  the  father  came  along  with  his  bucket. 
He  looked  in  the  shed,  and,  laughing  in  his  mature, 
pleasant  way,  said : 

"  So  you're  an  onlooker  to-day,  Cyril — I  thought 
you'd  have  milked  a  cow  or  two  for  me  by  now." 

"  Nay,"  said  I,  "  Sunday  is  a  day  of  rest — and 
milking  makes  your  hands  ache." 

"  You  only  want  a  bit  more  practice,"  he  said, 
joking  in  his  ripe  fashion.  "  Why  George,  is  that 
all  you've  got  from  Julia  ?  " 


TEE   Wi:iTE   PEACOCK 

is.' 


a  It ;.  » 


a 


H'm — she's  soon  going  dry.  Julia,  old  lady, 
don't  go  and  turn  skinny." 

When  he  had  gone,  and  the  shed  was  still,  the  air 
seemed  colder.  I  heard  his  good-humoured  "  Stand 
over,  old  lass,"  from  the  other  shed,  and  the  drum- 
beats of  the  first  jets  of  milk  on  the  pail. 

"  He  has  a  comfortable  time,"  said  George,  look- 
ing savage.     I  laughed.     He  still  waited. 

"  You  really  expected  Lettie  to  have  him"  I  said. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  he  replied,  "  then  she'd  made  up 
her  mind  to  it.  It  didn't  matter — what  she  wanted 
^at  the  bottom." 

"  You  ?  "  said  I. 

"  If  it  hadn't  been  that  he  was  a  prize — with  a 
ticket — she'd  have  had " 

"You!  "said  I. 

"  She  was  afraid — look  how  she  turned  and  kept 
away " 

"  From  you?"  said  I. 

"  I  should  like  to  squeeze  her  till  she  screamed." 

"  You  should  have  gripped  her  before,  and  kept 
her,"  said  I. 

"  She — she's  like  a  woman,  like  a  cat — running  to 
comforts — she  strikes  a  bargain.  Women  are  all 
tradesmen." 

"  Don't  generalise,  it's  no  good." 

"  She's  like  a  prostitute " 

"  It's  banal !     I  believe  she  loves  him." 

He  started,  and  looked  at  me  queerly.  He  looked 
quite  childish  in  his  doubt  and  perplexity. 

"She,  what ?" 

"  Loves  him — honestly." 


LETTIE  PULLS  THE  GRAPES     139 

"  She'd  'a  loved  me  better,"  he  muttered,  and 
turned  to  his  milking.  I  left  him  and  went  to  talk 
to  his  father.  When  the  latter's  four  beasts  were 
finished,  George's  light  still  shone  in  the  other  shed. 

I  went  and  found  him  at  the  fifth,  the  last  cow. 
When  at  length  he  had  finished  he  put  down  his  pail, 
and  going  over  to  poor  Julia,  stood  scratching  her 
back,  and  her  poll,  and  her  nose,  looking  into  her 
big,  startled  eye  and  murmuring.  She  was  afraid; 
she  jerked  her  head,  giving  him  a  good  blow  on  the 
cheek  with  her  horn. 

"  You  can't  understand  them,"  he  said  sadly,  rub- 
bing his  face,  and  looking  at  me  with  his  dark,  seri- 
ous eyes. 

"  I  never  knew  I  couldn't  understand  them.     I 

never  thought  about  it — till .     But  you  know, 

Cyril,  she  led  me  on." 

I  laughed  at  his  rueful  appearance. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE   EIOT    OF    CHRISTMAS 

Fob  some  weeks,  during  the  latter  part  of  November 
and  the  beginning  of  December,  I  was  kept  indoors 
by  a  cold.  At  last  came  a  frost  which  cleared  the 
air  and  dried  the  mud.  On  the  second  Saturday 
before  Christmas  the  world  was  transformed;  tall, 
silver  and  pearl-grey  trees  rose  pale  against  a  dim- 
blue  sky,  like  trees  in  some  rare,  pale  Paradise ;  the 
whole  woodland  was  as  if  petrified  in  marble  and 
silver  and  snow;  the  holly-leaves  and  long  leaves  of 
the  rhododendron  were  rimmed  and  spangled  with 
delicate  tracery. 

When  the  night  came  clear  and  bright,  with  a 
moon  among  the  hoar-frost,  I  rebelled  against  con- 
finement, and  the  house.  No  longer  the  mists  and 
dank  weather  made  the  home  dear ;  to-night  even  the 
glare  of  the  distant  little  iron  works  was  not  visible, 
for  the  low  clouds  were  gone,  and  pale  stars  blinked 
from  beyond  the  moon. 

Lettie  was  staying  with  me ;  Leslie  was  in  London 
again.  She  tried  to  remonstrate  in  a  sisterly  fashion 
when  I  said  I  would  go  out. 

"  Only  down  to  the  Mill,"  said  I.  Then  she  hesi- 
tated a  while — said  she  would  come  too.  I  suppose 
I  looked  at  her  curiously,  for  she  said : 

"  Oh — if  you  would  rather  go  alone !  " 

140 


THE   RIOT   OF    CHRISTMAS    141 

"  Come — come — yes,  come  !  "  said  I,  smiling  to 
myself. 

Lettie  was  in  her  old  animated  mood.  She  ran, 
leaping  over  rough  places,  laughing,  talking  to  her- 
self in  French.  We  came  to  the  Mill.  Gyp  did  not 
bark.  I  opened  the  outer  door  and  we  crept  softly 
into  the  great  dark  scullery,  peeping  into  the  kitchen 
through  the  crack  of  the  door. 

The  mother  sat  by  the  hearth,  where  was  a  big 
bath  half  full  of  soapy  water,  and  at  her  feet,  warm- 
ing his  bare  legs  at  the  fire,  was  David,  who  had 
just  been  bathed.  The  mother  was  gently  rubbing 
his  fine  fair  hair  into  a  cloud.  Mollie  was  combing 
out  her  brown  curls,  sitting  by  her  father,  who,  in 
the  fire-seat,  was  reading  aloud  in  a  hearty  voice, 
with  quaint  precision.  At  the  table  sat  Emily  and 
George :  she  was  quickly  picking  over  a  pile  of  little 
yellow  raisins,  and  he,  slowly,  with  his  head  sunk, 
was  stoning  the  large  raisins.  David  kept  reaching 
forward  to  play  with  the  sleepy  cat — interrupting 
his  mother's  rubbing.  There  was  no  sound  but  the 
voice  of  the  father,  full  of  zest;  I  am  afraid  they 
were  not  all  listening  carefully.  I  clicked  the  latch 
and  entered. 

"  Lettie !  "  exclaimed  George. 

"  Cyril !  "  cried  Emily. 

"  Cyril,  'ooray !  "  shouted  David. 

"  Hullo,  Cyril !  "  said  Mollie. 

Six  large  brown  eyes,  round  with  surprise,  wel- 
comed me.  They  overwhelmed  me  with  questions, 
and  made  much  of  us.  At  length  they  were  settled 
and  quiet  again. 

"  Yes,  I  am  a  stranger,"   said  Lettie,  who  had 


142       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

taken  off  her  hat  and  furs  and  coat.  "  But  you  do 
not  expect  me  often,  do  you  ?  I  may  come  at  times, 
eh?" 

"  We  are  only  too  glad,"  replied  the  mother. 
"  Nothing  all  day  long  but  the  sound  of  the  sluice — 
and  mists,  and  rotten  leaves.  I  am  thankful  to  hear 
a  fresh  voice." 

"  Is  Cyril  really  better,  Lettie  ? "  asked  Emily 
softly. 

"  He's  a  spoiled  boy — I  believe  he  keeps  a  little 
bit  ill  so  that  we  can  cade  him.  Let  me  help  you — 
let  me  peel  the  apples — yes,  yes — I  will." 

She  went  to  the  table,  and  occupied  one  side  with 
her  apple-peeling.  George  had  not  spoken  to  her. 
So  she  said: 

"  I  won't  help  you — George,  because  I  don't  like 
to  feel  my  fingers  so  sticky,  and  because  I  love  to  see 
you  so  domesticated." 

"  You'll  enjoy  the  sight  a  long  time,  then,  for 
these  things  are  numberless." 

"  You  should  eat  one  now  and  then — I  always  do." 

"  If  I  ate  one  I  should  eat  the  lot." 

"  Then  you  may  give  me  your  one." 

He  passed  her  a  handful  without  speaking. 

"  That  is  too  many,  your  mother  is  looking.  Let 
me  just  finish  this  apple.  There,  I've  not  broken  the 
peel!" 

She  stood  up,  holding  up  a  long  curling  strip  of 
peel. 

"  How  many  times  must  I  swing  it,  Mrs.  Sax- 
ton?" 

"  Three  times— but  it's  not  All  Hallows'  Eve." 

"  Never  mind !     Look ! "  she  carefully  swung 


THE    RIOT    OF    CHRISTMAS    143 

the  long  band  of  green  peel  over  her  head  three  times, 
letting  it  fall  the  third.  The  cat  pounced  on  it,  but 
Mollie  swept  him  off  again. 

"  What  is  it?  "  cried  Lettie,  blushing. 

"  G,"  said  the  father,  winking  and  laughing — the 
mother  looked  daggers  at  him. 

"  It  isn't  nothink,"  said  David  naively,  forgetting 
his  confusion  at  being  in  the  presence  of  a  lady  in 
his  shirt.    Mollie  remarked  in  her  cool  way : 

"  It  might  be  a  *  hess ' — if  you  couldn't  write." 

"  Or  an  *  L,'  "  I  added.  Lettie  looked  over  at  me 
imperiously,  and  I  was  angry. 

"  What  do  you  say,  Emily  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Nay,"  said  Emily,  "  It's  only  you  can  see  the 
right  letter." 

"  Tell  us  what's  the  right  letter,"  said  George  to 
her. 

"  I ! "  exclaimed  Lettie,  "  who  can  look  into  the 
seeds  of  Time  ?  " 

"  Those  who  have  set  'em  and  watched  'em 
sprout,"  said  I. 

She  flung  the  peel  into  the  fire,  laughing  a  short 
laugh,  and  went  on  with  her  work. 

Mrs.  Saxton  leaned  over  to  her  daughter  and  said 
softly,  so  that  he  should  not  hear,  that  George  was 
pulling  the  flesh  out  of  the  raisins. 

"  George !  "  said  Emily  sharply,  "  You're  leaving 
nothing  but  the  husks." 

He  too  was  angry: 

"  *  And  he  would  fain  fill  his  belly  with  the  husks 
that  the  swine  did  eat.'  "  he  said  quietly,  taking  a 
handful  of  the  fruit  he  had  picked  and  putting  some 
in  his  mouth.    Emily  snatched  away  the  basin : 


144       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  It  is  too  bad !  "  she  said. 

"  Here,"  said  Lettie,  handing  him  an  apple  she 
had  peeled.    "  You  may  have  an  apple,  greedy  boy." 

He  took  it  and  looked  at  it.  Then  a  malicious 
smile  twinkled  round  his  eyes, — as  he  said : 

"  If  you  give  me  the  apple,  to  whom  will  you  give 
the  peel?" 

"  The  swine,"  she  said,  as  if  she  only  understood 
his  first  reference  to  the  Prodigal  Son.  He  put  the 
apple  on  the  table. 

"  Don't  you  want  it  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  comically,  as  if  jesting.  "  She 
is  offering  me  the  apple  like  Eve." 

Like  a  flash,  she  snatched  the  apple  from  him,  hid 
it  in  her  skirts  a  moment,  looking  at  him  with  dilated 
eyes,  and  then  she  flung  it  at  the  fire.  She  missed, 
and  the  father  leaned  forward  and  picked  it  off  the 
hob,  saying: 

"  The  pigs  may  as  well  have  it.  You  were  slow, 
George — when  a  lady  offers  you  a  thing  you  don't 
have  to  make  mouths." 

"A  ce  qu'il  parait,"  she  cried,  laughing  now  at 
her  ease,  boisterously: 

"  Is  she  making  love,  Emily  ? "  asked  the  father, 
laughing  suggestively. 

"  She  says  it  too  fast  for  me,"  said  Emily. 

George  was  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  his  hands  in 
his  breeches  pockets. 

"  We  shall  have  to  finish  his  raisins  after  all, 
Emily,"  said  Lettie  brightly.  "  Look  what  a  lazy 
animal  he  is." 

"  He  likes  his  comfort,"  said  Emily,  with  irony. 

"  The   picture   of   content — solid,    healthy,    easy- 


THE   RIOT    OF    CHRISTMAS    145 

moving  content "  continued  Lettie.     As  he  sat 

thus,  with  his  head  thrown  back  against  the  end  of 
the  ingle-seat,  coatless,  his  red  neck  seen  in  repose, 
he  did  indeed  look  remarkably  comfortable. 

"  I  shall  never  fret  my  fat  away,"  he  said  stolidly. 

"  No — you  and  I — we  are  not  like  Cyril.  We  do 
not  burn  our  bodies  in  our  heads — or  our  hearts,  do 
we?" 

"  We  have  it  in  common,"  said  he,  looking  at  her 
indifferently  beneath  his  lashes,  as  his  head  was 
tilted  back. 

Lettie  went  on  with  the  paring  and  coring  of  her 
apples  —  then  she  took  the  raisins.  Meanwhile, 
Emily  was  making  the  house  ring  as  she  chopped  the 
suet  in  a  wooden  bowl.  The  children  were  ready 
for  bed.  They  kissed  us  all  "  Good-night " — save 
George.  At  last  they  were  gone,  accompanied  by 
their  mother.  Emily  put  down  her  chopper,  and 
sighed  that  her  arm  was  aching,  so  I  relieved  her. 
The  chopping  went  on  for  a  long  time,  while  the 
father  read,  Lettie  worked,  and  George  sat  tilted 
back  looking  on.  When  at  length  the  mincemeat  was 
finished  we  were  all  out  of  work.  Lettie  helped  to 
clear  away — sat  down — talked  a  little  with  effort — 
jumped  up  and  said : 

"  Oh,  I'm  too  excited  to  sit  still — it's  so  near 
Christmas — let  us  play  at  something." 

"  A  dance  ?  "  said  Emily. 

"  A  dance — a  dance !  " 

He  suddenly  sat  straight  and  got  up : 

"  Come  on !  "  he  said. 

He  kicked  off  his  slippers,  regardless  of  the  holes 
in  his  stocking  feet,  and  put  away  the  chairs.     He 


146       THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

held  out  his  arm  to  her — she  came  with  a  laugh,  and 
away  they  went,  dancing  over  the  great  nagged 
kitchen  at  an  incredible  speed.  Her  light  flying 
steps  followed  his  leaps;  you  could  hear  the  quick 
light  tap  of  her  toes  more  plainly  than  the  thud  of 
his  stockinged  feet.  Emily  and  I  joined  in.  Em- 
ily's movements  are  naturally  slow,  but  we  danced 
at  great  speed.  I  was  hot  and  perspiring,  and  she 
was  panting,  when  I  put  her  in  a  chair.  But  they 
whirled  on  in  the  dance,  on  and  on  till  I  was  giddy, 
till  the  father  laughing,  cried  that  they  should  stop. 
But  George  continued  the  dance ;  her  hair  was  shaken 
loose,  and  fell  in  a  great  coil  down  her  back ;  her  feet 
began  to  drag;  you  could  hear  a  light  slur  on  the 
floor ;  she  was  panting — I  could  see  her  lips  murmur 
to  him,  begging  him  to  stop;  he  was  laughing  with 
open  mouth,  holding  her  tight ;  at  last  her  feet  trailed ; 
he  lifted  her,  clasping  her  tightly,  and  danced  twice 
round  the  room  with  her  thus.  Then  he  fell  with  a 
crash  on  the  sofa,  pulling  her  beside  him.  His  eyes 
glowed  like  coals;  he  was  panting  in  sobs,  and  his 
hair  was  wet  and  glistening.  She  lay  back  on  the 
sofa,  with  his  arm  still  around  her,  not  moving ;  she 
was  quite  overcome.  Her  hair  was  wild  about  her 
face.  Emily  was  anxious;  the  father  said,  with  a 
shade  of  inquietude: 

"  YouVe  overdone  it — it  is  very  foolish." 
When  at  last  she  recovered  her  breath  and  her  life, 
she  got  up,  and  laughing  in  a  queer  way,  began  to 
put  up  her  hair.  She  went  into  the  scullery  where 
were  the  brush  and  combs,  and  Emily  followed  with 
a  candle.  When  she  returned,  ordered  once  more, 
with  a  little  pallor  succeeding  the  flush,  and  with  a 


THE    RIOT    OF    CHRISTMAS    147 

great  black  stain  of  sweat  on  her  leathern  belt  where 
his  hand  had  held  her,  he  looked  up  at  her  from  his 
position  on  the  sofa,  with  a  peculiar  glance  of  tri- 
umph, smiling. 

"  You  great  brute,"  she  said,  but  her  voice  was  not 
as  harsh  as  her  words.  He  gave  a  deep  sigh,  sat  up, 
and  laughed  quietly. 

"  Another  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Will  you  dance  with  me?" 

"  At  your  pleasure." 

"  Come  then — a  minuet." 

"  Don't  know  it." 

"  Nevertheless,  you  must  dance  it.     Come  along." 

He  reared  up,  and  walked  to  her  side.  She  put 
him  through  the  steps,  even  dragging  him  round  the 
waltz.  It  was  very  ridiculous.  When  it  was  finished 
she  bowed  him  to  his  seat,  and,  wiping  her  hands  on 
her  handkerchief,  because  his  shirt,  where  her  hand 
had  rested  on  his  shoulders,  was  moist,  she  thanked 
him. 

"  I  hope  you  enjoyed  it,"  he  said. 

"  Ever  so  much,"  she  replied. 

"  You  made  me  look  a  fool — so  no  doubt  you  did." 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  look  a  fool  ?  Why  you 
are  ironical !  Ca  marche !  In  other  words,  you  have 
come  on.     But  it  is  a  sweet  dance." 

He  looked  at  her,  lowered  his  eyelids,  and  said 
nothing. 

"  Ah,  well,"  she  laughed,  "  some  are  bred  for  the 
minuet,  and  some  for " 

"  — Less  tomfoolery,"  he  answered. 

"  Ah — you  call  it  tomfoolery  because  you  cannot 
do  it.    Myself,  I  like  it — so " 


148       THE    WHITE   PEACOCK 

"And  I  can't  do  it?" 

"  Could  you  ?  Did  you  ?  You  are  not  built  that 
way." 

"  Sort  of  Clarence  MacFadden,"  lie  said,  lighting 
a  pipe  as  if  the  conversation  did  not  interest  him. 

"  Yes — what  ages  since  we  sang  that ! 

'  Clarence  McFadden  he  wanted  to  dance 
But  his  feet  were  not  gaited  that  way  .  .  . ' 

"  I  remember  we  sang  it  after  one  corn  harvest — 
we  had  a  fine  time.  I  never  thought  of  you  before 
as  Clarence.  It  is  very  funny.  By  the  way — will 
you  come  to  our  party  at  Christmas  I  " 

"When?    Who's  coming?" 

"  The  twenty-sixth. — Oh ! — only  the  old  people — 
Alice — Tom  Smith  —  Fanny — those  from  High- 
close." 

"  And  what  will  you  do  ? " 

"  Sing  charades — dance  a  little — anything  you 
like." 

"Polka?" 

"  And  minuets — and  valetas.  Come  and  dance  a 
valeta,  Cyril." 

She  made  me  take  her  through  a  valeta,  a  minuet, 
a  mazurka,  and  she  danced  elegantly,  but  with  a 
little  of  Carmen's  ostentation — her  dash  and  devilry. 
When  we  had  finished,  the  father  said : 

"  Very  pretty — very  pretty,  indeed !  They  do  look 
nice,  don't  they,  George  ?    I  wish  I  was  young." 

"  As  I  am "  said  George,  laughing  bitterly. 

"  Show  me  how  to  do  them — some  time,  Cyril," 
said  Emily,  in  her  pleading  way,  which  displeased 
Lettie  so  much. 


THE    RIOT    OF    CHRISTMAS    149 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  me  ?  "  said  the  latter  quickly. 

"  Well — but  you  are  not  often  here." 

"  I  am  here  now.     Come "   and  she  waved 

Emily  imperiously  to  the  attempt. 

Lettie,  as  I  have  said,  is  tall,  approaching  six  feet ; 
she  is  lissome,  but  firmly  moulded,  by  nature  grace- 
ful; in  her  poise  and  harmonious  movement  are  re- 
vealed the  subtle  sympathies  of  her  artist's  soul.  The 
other  is  shorter,  much  heavier.  In  her  every  motion 
you  can  see  the  extravagance  of  her  emotional  nature. 
She  quivers  with  feeling;  emotion  conquers  and  car- 
ries havoc  through  her,  for  she  has  not  a  strong  in- 
tellect, nor  a  heart  of  light  humour;  her  nature  is 
brooding  and  defenceless;  she  knows  herself  power- 
less in  the  tumult  of  her  feelings,  and  adds  to  her 
misfortunes  a  profound  mistrust  of  herself. 

As  they  danced  together,  Lettie  and  Emily,  they 
showed  in  striking  contrast.  My  sister's  ease  and 
beautiful  poetic  movement,  was  exquisite;  the  other 
could  not  control  her  movements,  but  repeated  the 
same  error  again  and  again.  She  gripped  Lettie's 
hand  fiercely,  and  glanced  up  with  eyes  full  of  hu- 
miliation and  terror  of  her  continued  failure,  and 
passionate,  trembling,  hopeless  desire  to  succeed.  To 
show  her,  to  explain,  made  matters  worse.  As  soon 
as  she  trembled  on  the  brink  of  an  action,  the  terror 
of  not  being  able  to  perform  it  properly  blinded  her, 
and  she  was  conscious  of  nothing  but  that  she  must 
do  something — in  a  turmoil.  At  last  Lettie  ceased 
to  talk,  and  merely  swung  her  through  the  dances 
haphazard.  This  way  succeeded  better.  So  long  as 
Emily  need  not  think  about  her  actions,  she  had  a 
large,  free  grace;  and  the  swing  and  rhythm   and 


150       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

time  were  imparted  through  her  senses  rather  than 
through  her  intelligence. 

It  was  time  for  supper.  The  mother  came  down 
for  a  while,  and  we  talked  quietly,  at  random.  Lettie 
did  not  utter  a  word  about  her  engagement,  not  a 
suggestion.  She  made  it  seem  as  if  things  were  just 
as  before,  although  I  am  sure  she  had  discovered 
that  I  had  told  George.  She  intended,  that  we  should 
play  as  if  ignorant  of  her  bond. 

After  supper,  when  we  were  ready  to  go  home, 
Lettie  said  to  him: 

"  By  the  way — you  must  send  us  some  mistletoe 
for  the  party — with  plenty  of  berries,  you  know. 
Are  there  many  berries  on  your  mistletoe  this  year  ? " 

"  I  do  not  know — I  have  never  looked.  We  will 
go  and  see — if  you  like,"  George  answered. 

"  But  will  you  come  out  into  the  cold  ?  " 

He  pulled  on  his  boots,  and  his  coat,  and  twisted 
a  scarf  round  his  neck.  The  young  moon  had  gone. 
It  was  very  dark — the  liquid  stars  wavered.  The 
great  night  filled  us  with  awe.  Lettie  caught  hold 
of  my  arm,  and  held  it  tightly.  He  passed  on  in 
front  to  open  the  gates.  We  went  down  into  the 
front  garden,  over  the  turf  bridge  where  the  sluice 
rushed  coldly  under,  on  to  the  broad  slope  of  the 
bank.  We  could  just  distinguish  the  gnarled  old 
appletrees  leaning  about  us.  We  bent  our  heads  to 
avoid  the  boughs,  and  followed  George.  He  hesi- 
tated a  moment,  saying: 

"  Let  me  see — I  think  they  are  there — the  two 
trees  with  mistletoe  on." 

We  again  followed  silently. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  Here  they  are!  " 


THE   RIOT   OF    CHRISTMAS    151 

We  went  close  and  peered  into  the  old  trees.  We 
could  just  see  the  dark  bush  of  the  mistletoe  between 
the  boughs  of  the  tree.     Lettie  began  to  laugh. 

"  Have  we  come  to  count  the  berries  ? "  she  said. 
"  I  can't  even  see  the  mistletoe." 

She  leaned  forwards  and  upwards  to  pierce  the 
darkness;  he,  also  straining  to  look,  felt  her  breath 
on  his  cheek,  and  turning,  saw  the  pallor  of  her  face 
close  to  his,  and  felt  the  dark  glow  of  her  eyes.  He 
caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  held  her  mouth  in  a 
kiss.  Then,  when  he  released  her,  he  turned  away, 
saying  something  incoherent  about  going  to  fetch  the 
lantern  to  look.  She  remained  with  her  back  to- 
wards me,  and  pretended  to  be  feeling  among  the 
mistletoe  for  the  berries.  Soon  I  saw  the  swing  of 
the  hurricane  lamp  below. 

"  He  is  bringing  the  lantern,"  said  I. 

When  he  came  up,  he  said,  and  his  voice  was 
strange  and  subdued: 

"  Now  we  can  see  what  it's  like." 

He  went  near,  and  held  up  the  lamp,  so  that  it 
illuminated  both  their  faces,  and  the  fantastic  boughs 
of  the  trees,  and  the  weird  bush  of  mistletoe  sparsely 
pearled  with  berries.  Instead  of  looking  at  the  ber- 
ries they  looked  into  each  other's  eyes ;  his  lids  flick- 
ered, and  he  flushed,  in  the  yellow  light  of  the  lamp 
looking  warm  and  handsome;  he  looked  upwards  in 
confusion  and  said :  "  There  are  plenty  of  berries." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  there  were  very  few. 

She  too  looked  up,  and  murmured  her  assent.  The 
light  seemed  to  hold  them  as  in  a  globe,  in  another 
world,  apart  from  the  night  in  which  I  stood.  He 
put  up  his  hand  and  broke  off  a  sprig  of  mistletoe, 


152       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

with  berries,  and  offered  it  to  her.  They  looked  into 
each  other's  eyes  again.  She  put  the  mistletoe  among 
her  furs,  looking  down  at  her  bosom.  They  remained 
still,  in  the  centre  of  light,  with  the  lamp  uplifted ; 
the  red  and  black  scarf  wrapped  loosely  round  his 
neck  gave  him  a  luxurious,  generous  look.  He  low- 
ered the  lamp  and  said,  affecting  to  speak  naturally : 

"  Yes — there  is  plenty  this  year." 

"  You  will  give  me  some,"  she  replied,  turning 
away  and  finally  breaking  the  spell. 

"  When  shall  I  cut  it  ?  " — He  strode  beside  her, 
swinging  the  lamp,  as  we  went  down  the  bank  to  go 
home.  He  came  as  far  as  the  brooks  without  saying 
another  word.  Then  he  bade  us  good-night.  When 
he  had  lighted  her  over  the  stepping-stones,  she  did 
not  take  my  arm  as  we  walked  home. 

During  the  next  two  weeks  we  were  busy  pre- 
paring for  Christmas,  ranging  the  woods  for  the  red- 
dest holly,  and  pulling  the  gleaming  ivy-bunches 
from  the  trees.  From  the  farms  around  came  the 
cruel  yelling  of  pigs,  and  in  the  evening,  later,  was 
a  scent  of  pork-pies.  Far-off  on  the  high-way  could 
be  heard  the  sharp  trot  of  ponies  hastening  with 
Christmas  goods. 

There  the  carts  of  the  hucksters  dashed  by  to  the 
expectant  villagers,  triumphant  with  great  bunches 
of  light  foreign  mistletoe,  gay  with  oranges  peeping 
through  the  boxes,  and  scarlet  intrusion  of  apples, 
and  wild  confusion  of  cold,  dead  poultry.  The  huck- 
sters waved  their  whips  triumphantly,  the  little 
ponies  rattled  bravely  under  the  sycamores,  towards 
Christmas. 

In  the  late  afternoon  of  the  24th,  when  dust  was 


THE    RIOT   OF    CHRISTMAS    153 

rising  under  the  hazel  brake,  I  was  walking  with 
Lettie.  All  among  the  mesh  of  twigs  overhead  was 
tangled  a  dark  red  sky.  The  boles  of  the  trees  grew 
denser — almost  blue. 

Tramping  down  the  riding  we  met  two  boys,  fif- 
teen or  sixteen  years  old.  Their  clothes  were  largely 
patched  with  tough  cotton  moleskin;  scarves  were 
knotted  round  their  throats,  and  in  their  pockets 
rolled  tin  bottles  full  of  tea,  and  the  white  knobs  of 
their  knotted  snap-bags. 

"  Why !  "  said  Lettie.  "  Are  you  going  to  work 
on  Christmas  eve  ?  " 

"  It  looks  like  it,  don't  it?  "  said  the  elder. 

"  And  what  time  will  you  be  coming  back  ?  " 

"  About  'alf  past  tow." 

"  Christmas  morning !  " 

"  You'll  be  able  to  look  out  for  the  herald  Angels 
and  the  Star,"  said  I. 

"  They'd  think  we  was  two  dirty  little  uns,"  said 
the  younger  lad,  laughing. 

"  They'll  'appen  'a  done  before  we  get  up  ter  th' 
top,"  added  the  elder  boy — "  an'  they'll  none  venture 
down  th'  shaft." 

"  If  they  did,'  put  in  the  other,  "  You'd  ha'e  ter 
bath  'em  after.    I'd  gi'e  'em  a  bit  o'  my  pasty." 

"  Come  on,"  said  the  elder  sulkily. 

They  tramped  off,  slurring  their  heavy  boots. 

"  Merry  Christmas !  "  I  called  after  them. 

"  In  th'  mornin',"  replied  the  elder. 

"  Same  to  you,"  said  the  younger,  and  he  began 
to  sing  with  a  tinge  of  bravado. 

"In  the  fields  with  their  flocks  abiding. 
They  lay  on  the  dewy  ground " 


154       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

"  Fancy/'  said  Lettie,  "  those  boys  are  working 
for  me !  " 

We  were  all  going  to  the  party  at  Highclose.  I 
happened  to  go  into  the  kitchen  about  half  past  seven. 
The  lamp  was  turned  low,  and  Rebecca  sat  in  the 
shadows.  On  the  table,  in  the  light  of  the  lamp,  I 
saw  a  glass  vase  with  five  or  six  very  beautiful 
Christmas  roses. 

"  Hullo,  Becka,  who's  sent  you  these  ?  "  said  I. 

"  They're  not  sent,"  replied  Rebecca  from  the 
depth  of  the  shadow,  with  suspicion  of  tears  in  her 
voice. 

"  Why !    I  never  saw  them  in  the  garden." 

"  Perhaps  not.  But  I've  watched  them  these  three 
weeks,  and  kept  them  under  glass." 

"  For  Christmas  ?  They  are  beauties.  I  thought 
some  one  must  have  sent  them  to  you." 

"  It's  little  as  'as  ever  been  sent  me,"  replied  Re- 
becca, "  an'  less  as  will  be." 

"  Why— what's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  Who'm  I,  to  have  anything  the  mat- 
ter !  Nobody — nor  ever  was,  nor  ever  will  be.  And 
I'm  getting  old  as  well." 

"  Something's  upset  you,  Becky." 

"  What  does  it  matter  if  it  has  ?  What  are  my 
feelings  ?  A  bunch  o'  f al-de-rol  flowers  as  a  gardener 
clips  off  wi'  never  a  thought  is  preferred  before  mine 
as  I've  fettled  after  this  three-week.  I  can  sit  at 
home  to  keep  my  flowers  company — nobody  wants 
'em." 

I  remembered  that  Lettie  was  wearing  hot-house 
flowers ;  she  was  excited  and  full  of  the  idea  of  the 
party  at  Highclose ;  I  could  imagine  her  quick  "  Oh 


THE    RIOT   OF    CHRISTMAS    155 

no  thank  you,  Bebecca.  I  have  had  a  spray  sent  to 
me " 

"Never  mind,  Becky,"  said  I,  "she  is  excited 
to-night." 

"  An'  I'm  easy  forgotten." 

"  So  are  we  all,  Becky — tant  mieux." 

At  Highclose  Lettie  made  a  stir.  Among  the  lit- 
tle belles  of  the  countryside,  she  was  decidedly  the 
most  distinguished.  She  was  brilliant,  moving  as  if 
in  a  drama.  Leslie  was  enraptured,  ostentatious  in 
his  admiration,  proud  of  being  so  well  infatuated. 
They  looked  into  each  other's  eyes  when  they  met, 
both  triumphant,  excited,  blazing  arch  looks  at  one 
another.  Lettie  was  enjoying  her  public  demonstra- 
tion immensely ;  it  exhilarated  her  into  quite  a  vivid 
love  for  him.  He  was  magnificent  in  response. 
Meanwhile,  the  honoured  lady  of  the  house,  pompous 
and  ample,  sat  aside  with  my  mother  conferring  her 
patronage  on  the  latter  amiable  little  woman,  who 
smiled  sardonically  and  watched  Lettie.  It  was  a 
splendid  party;  it  was  brilliant,  it  was  dazzling. 

I  danced  with  several  ladies,  and  honourably  kissed 
each  under  the  mistletoe — except  that  two  of  them 
kissed  me  first,  it  was  all  done  in  a  most  correct  man- 
ner. 

"  You  wolf,"  said  Miss  Wookey  archly.  "  I  be- 
lieve you  are  a  wolf — a  veritable  rodeur  des  femmes 
— and  you  look  such  a  lamb  too — such  a  dear." 

"  Even  my  bleat  reminds  you  of  Mary's  pet." 

"  But  you  are  not  my  pet — at  least — it  is  well 
that  my  Golaud  doesn't  hear  you " 

"  If  he  is  so  very  big "  said  I. 

"  He  is  really ;  he's  beefy.     I've  engaged  myself 


156      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

to  him,  somehow  or  other.  One  never  knows  how 
one  does  those  things,  do  they  ? " 

"  I  couldn't  speak  from  experience,"  said  I. 

"  Cruel  man !  I  suppose  I  felt  Christmasy,  and 
I'd  just  been  reading  Maeterlinck — and  he  really  is 
big." 

"Who?"  I  asked. 

"  Oh — He,  of  course.  My  Golaud.  I  can't  help 
admiring  men  who  are  a  bit  avoirdupoisy.  It  is  un- 
fortunate they  can't  dance." 

"  Perhaps  fortunate,"  said  I. 

"  I  can  see  you  hate  him.  Pity  I  didn't  think  to 
ask  him  if  he  danced — before " 

"  Would  it  have  influenced  you  very  much  ?  " 

"  Well — of  course — one  can  be  free  to  dance  all 
the  more  with  the  really  nice  men  whom  one  never 
marries." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Oh — you  can  only  marry  one " 

"  Of  course." 

"  There  he  is — he's  coming  for  me !  Oh,  Frank, 
you  leave  me  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  world  at 
large.     I  thought  you'd  forgotten  me,  Dear." 

"  I  thought  the  same,"  replied  her  Golaud,  a  great 
fat  fellow  with  a  childish  bare  face.  He  smiled  awe- 
somely, and  one  never  knew  what  he  meant  to  say. 

We  drove  home  in  the  early  Christmas  morning. 
Lettie,  warmly  wrapped  in  her  cloak,  had  had  a  little 
stroll  with  her  lover  in  the  shrubbery.  She  was  still 
brilliant,  flashing  in  her  movements.  He,  as  he  bade 
her  good-bye,  was  almost  beautiful  in  his  grace  and 
his  low  musical  tone.  I  nearly  loved  him  myself. 
She  was  very  fond  towards  him.    As  we  came  to  the 


THE    RIOT    OF    CHRISTMAS    157 

gate  where  the  private  road  branched  from  the  high- 
way, we  heard  John  say  "  Thank  you  " — and  look- 
ing out,  saw  our  two  boys  returning  from  the  pit. 
They  were  very  grotesque  in  the  dark  night  as  the 
lamp-light  fell  on  them,  showing  them  grimy,  flecked 
with  bits  of  snow.  They  shouted  merrily,  their  good 
wishes.  Lettie  leaned  out  and  waved  to  them,  and 
they  cried  "  'ooray !  "  Christmas  came  in  with  their 
acclamations. 


CHAPTER  IX 

LETTIE    COMES    OF    AGE 

Lettie  was  twenty-one  on  the  day  after  Christmas. 
She  woke  me  in  the  morning  with  cries  of  dismay. 
There  was  a  great  fall  of  snow,  multiplying  the 
cold  morning  light,  startling  the  slow-footed  twi- 
light. The  lake  was  black  like  the  open  eyes  of  a 
corpse;  the  woods  were  black  like  the  beard  on  the 
face  of  a  corpse.  A  rabbit  bobbed  out,  and  floun- 
dered in  much  consternation ;  little  birds  settled  into 
the  depth,  and  rose  in  a  dusty  whirr,  much  terrified 
at  the  universal  treachery  of  the  earth.  The  snow 
was  eighteen  inches  deep,  and  drifted  in  places. 

"  They  will  never  come !  "  lamented  Lettie,  for  it 
was  the  day  of  her  party. 

"  At  any  rate — Leslie  will,"  said  I. 

"  One !  "  she  exclaimed. 

*  That  one  is  all,  isn't  it  ?  "  said  I.  "  And  for  sure 
George  will  come,  though  I've  not  seen  him  this  fort- 
night. He's  not  been  in  one  night,  they  say,  for  a 
fortnight." 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  cannot  say." 

Lettie  went  away  to  ask  Rebecca  for  the  fiftieth 
time  if  she  thought  they  would  come.  At  any  rate 
the  extra  woman-help  came. 

It  was  not  more  than  ten  o'clock  when  Leslie  ar- 
158 


LETTIE    COMES    OF   AGE     159 

rived,  ruddy,  with  shining  eyes,  laughing  like  a  boy. 
There  was  much  stamping  in  the  porch,  and  knock- 
ing of  leggings  with  his  stick,  and  crying  of  Lettie 
from  the  kitchen  to  know  who  had  come,  and  loud, 
cheery  answers  from  the  porch  bidding  her  come  and 
see.     She  came,  and  greeted  him  with  effusion. 

"  Ha,  my  little  woman !  "  he  said  kissing  her.  "  I 
declare  you  are  a  woman.     Look  at  yourself  in  the 

glass  now "    She  did  so — "  What  do  you  see  ?  " 

he  asked  laughing. 

"  You — mighty  gay,  looking  at  me." 

"Ah,  but  look  at  yourself.  There!  I  declare 
you're  more  afraid  of  your  own  eyes  than  of  mine, 
aren't  you  ? " 

"  I  am,"  she  said,  and  he  kissed  her  with  rapture. 

"  It's  your  birthday,"  he  said. 

"  I  know,"  she  replied. 

"  So  do  I.     You  promised  me  something." 

"What?  "she  asked. 

"  Here — see  if  you  like  it," — he  gave  her  a  little 
case.  She  opened  it,  and  instinctively  slipped  the 
ring  on  her  finger.  He  made  a  movement  of  pleasure. 
She  looked  up,  laughing  breathlessly  at  him. 

"  Now !  "  said  he,  in  tones  of  finality. 

"  Ah !  "  she  exclaimed  in  a  strange,  thrilled  voice. 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

After  a  while,  when  they  could  talk  rationally 
again,  she  said: 

"  Do  you  think  they  will  come  to  my  party  ?  " 

"  I  hope  not — By  Heaven !  " 

"  But — oh,  yes !    We  have  made  all  preparations." 

"  What  does  that  matter !  Ten  thousand  folks 
here  to-day !  " 


160      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

"  Not  ten  thousand — only  five  or  six.  I  shall  be 
wild  if  they  can't  come." 

"  You  want  them  ?  " 

"  We  have  asked  them — and  everything  is  ready 
— and  I  do  want  us  to  have  a  party  one  day." 

"But  to-day — damn  it  all,  Lettie!" 

"  But  I  did  want  my  party  to-day.  Don't  you 
think  they'll  come  ?  " 

"  They  won't  if  they've  any  sense !  " 

"  You  might  help  me "  she  pouted. 

"  Well  I'll  be — !  and  you've  set  your  mind  on 
having  a  houseful  of  people  to-day  ?  " 

"  You  know  how  we  look  forward  to  it — my  party. 
At  any  rate — I  know  Tom  Smith  will  come — and 
I'm  almost  sure  Emily  Saxton  will." 

He  bit  his  moustache  angrily,  and  said  at  last : 

"  Then  I  suppose  I'd  better  send  John  round  for 
the  lot" 

"  It  wouldn't  be  much  trouble,  would  it  ? " 

"  No  trouble  at  all." 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  twisting  the  ring  on 
her  finger.  "  It  makes  me  feel  as  if  I  tied  some- 
thing round  my  finger  to  remember  by.  It  somehow 
remains  in  my  consciousness  all  the  time*" 

"  At  any  rate,"  said  he,  "  I  have  got  you." 

After  dinner,  when  we  were  alone,  Lettie  sat  at 
the  table,  nervously  fingering  her  ring. 

"It  is  pretty,  mother,  isn't  it  ? "  she  said  a  trifle 
pathetically. 

"  Yes,  very  pretty.  I  have  always  liked  Leslie," 
replied  my  mother. 

"  But  it  feels  so  heavy — it  fidgets  me.  I  should 
like  to  take  it  off." 


LETTIE    COMES    OF   AGE     161 

"  You  are  like  me,  I  never  could  wear  rings.  I 
hated  my  wedding  ring  for  months." 

"Did  you,  mother?" 

"  I  longed  to  take  it  off  and  put  it  away.  But  after 
a  while  I  got  used  to  it" 

"  I'm  glad  this  isn't  a  wedding  ring." 

"  Leslie  says  it  is  as  good,"  said  I. 

"  Ah  well,  yes !  But  still  it  is  different—"  She 
put  the  jewels  round  under  her  finger,  and  looked  at 
the  plain  gold  band — then  she  twisted  it  back  quickly, 
saying: 

"  I'm  glad  it's  not — not  yet.  I  begin  to  feel  a 
woman,  little  mother — I  feel  grown  up  to-day." 

My  mother  got  up  suddenly,  and  went  and  kissed 
Lettie  fervently. 

"  Let  me  kiss  my  girl  good-bye,"  she  said,  and  her 
voice  was  muffled  with  tears.  Lettie  clung  to  my 
mother,  and  sobbed  a  few  quiet  sobs,  hidden  in  her 
bosom.  Then  she  lifted  her  face,  which  was  wet  with 
tears,  and  kissed  my  mother,  murmuring : 

"  No,  mother — no — o — !  " 

About  three  o'clock  the  carriage  came  with  Leslie 
and  Marie.  Both  Lettie  and  I  were  upstairs,  and  I 
heard  Marie  come  tripping  up  to  my  sister. 

"  Oh,  Lettie,  he  is  in  such  a  state  of  excitement^ 
you  never  knew.  He  took  me  with  him  to  buy  it — 
let  me  see  it  on.  I  think  it's  awfully  lovely.  Here, 
let  me  help  you  to  do  your  hair — all  in  those  little 
rolls — it  will  look  charming.  You've  really  got  beau- 
tiful hair — there's  so  much  life  in  it — it's  a  pity  to 
twist  it  into  a  coil  as  you  do.  I  wish  my  hair  were  a 
bit  longer — though  really,  it's  all  the  better  for  this 
fashion — don't  you  like  it  ? — it's  '  so  chic  ' — I  think 


162      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

these  little  puffs  are  just  fascinating — it  is  rather  long 
for  them — but  it  will  look  ravishing.  Keally,  my 
eyes,  and  eyebrows,  and  eyelashes  are  my  best  fea- 
tures, don't  you  think  ?  " 

Marie,  the  delightful,  charming  little  creature, 
twittered  on.     I  went  downstairs. 

Leslie  started  when  I  entered  the  room,  but  seeing 
only  me,  he  leaned  forward  again,  resting  his  arms  on 
his  knees,  looking  in  the  fire. 

"  What  the  Dickens  is  she  doing  I  "  he  asked. 

"  Dressing." 

"  Then  we  may  keep  on  waiting.  Isn't  it  a  deuced 
nuisance,  these  people  coming  ?  " 

"  Well,  we  generally  have  a  good  time." 

"  Oh — it's  all  very  well — we're  not  in  the  same 
boat,  you  and  me." 

"  Fact,"  said  I  laughing. 

"  By  Jove,  Cyril,  you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  be 
in  love.  I  never  thought — I  couldn't  ha'  believed  I 
should  be  like  it.  All  the  time  when  it  isn't  at  the 
top  of  your  blood,  it's  at  the  bottom : — '  the  Girl,  the 
Girl.'  " 

He  stared  into  the  fire. 

"  It  seems  pressing  you,  pressing  you  on.  Never 
leaves  you  alone  a  moment." 

Again  he  lapsed  into  reflection. 

"  Then,  all  at  once,  you  remember  how  she  kissed 
you,  and  all  your  blood  jumps  afire." 

He  mused  again  for  awhile — or  rather,  he  seemed 
fiercely  to  con  over  his  sensations. 

"  You  know,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  think  she  feels  for 
me  as  I  do  for  her," 

"  Would  you  want  her  to  ?  "  said  I. 


»       LETTIE    COMES    OF   AGE      163 

"I  don't  know.  Perhaps  not — but — still  I  don't 
think  she  feels " 

At  this  he  lighted  a  cigarette  to  soothe  his  excited 
feelings,  and  there  was  silence  for  some  time.  Then 
the  girls  came  down.  We  could  hear  their  light 
chatter.  Lettie  entered  the  room.  He  jumped  up 
and  surveyed  her.  She  was  dressed  in  soft,  creamy, 
silken  stuff;  her  neck  was  quite  bare;  her  hair  was, 
as  Marie  promised,  fascinating;  she  was  laughing 
nervously.  She  grew  warm,  like  a  blossom  in  the 
sunshine,  in  the  glow  of  his  admiration.  He  went 
forward  and  kissed  her. 

"  You  are  splendid !  "  he  said. 

She  only  laughed  for  answer.  He  drew  her  away 
to  the  great  arm-chair,  and  made  her  sit  in  it  beside 
him.  She  was  indulgent  and  he  radiant.  He  took 
her  hand  and  looked  at  it,  and  at  his  ring  which  she 
wore. 

"  It  looks  all  right !  "  he  murmured. 

"  Anything  would,"  she  replied. 

"  What  do  they  mean — sapphires  and  diamonds — 
for  I  don't  know  %  " 

"  Nor  do  I.  Blue  for  hope,  because  Speranza  in 
1  Fairy  Queen '  had  a  blue  gown — and  diamonds  for 
— the  crystalline  clearness  of  my  nature." 

"  Its  glitter  and  hardness,  you  mean — You  are  a 
hard  little  mistress.     But  why  Hope  ?  " 

"  Why  ? — ~No  reason  whatever,  like  most  things. 
No,  that's  not  right.  Hope!  Oh — Blindfolded — 
hugging  a  silly  harp  with  no  strings.  I  wonder  why 
she  didn't  drop  her  harp  framework  over  the  edge 
of  the  globe,  and  take  the  handkerchief  off  her  eyes, 
and  have  a  look  round!     But  of  course  she  was  a 


164      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

woman — and  a  man's  woman.  Do  you  know  I  be- 
lieve most  women  can  sneak  a  look  down  their  noses 
from  underneath  the  handkerchief  of  hope  they've 
tied  over  their  eyes.  They  could  take  the  whole 
muffler  off — but  they  don't  do  it,  the  dears." 

"  I  don't  believe  you  know  what  you're  talking 
about,  and  I'm  sure  I  don't.  Sapphires  reminded  me 
of  your  eyes — and — isn't  it  *  Blue  that  kept  the 
faith  ? '     I  remember  something  about  it." 

"  Here,"  said  she,  pulling  off  the  ring,  "  you  ought 
to  wear  it  yourself,  Faithful  One,  to  keep  me  in 
constant  mind." 

"  Keep  it  on,  keep  it  on.  It  holds  you  faster  than 
that  fair  damsel  tied  to  a  tree  in  Millais'  picture — 
I  believe  it's  Millais." 

She  sat  shaking  with  laughter. 

"  What  a  comparison !  Who'll  be  the  brave  knight 
to  rescue  me — discreetly — from  behind  ?  " 

"  Ah,"  he  answered,  "  it  doesn't  matter.  You 
don't  want  rescuing,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,"  she  replied,  teasing  him. 

They  continued  to  talk  half  nonsense,  making 
themselves  eloquent  by  quick  looks  and  gestures,  and 
communion  of  warm  closeness.  The  ironical  tones 
went  out  of  Lettie's  voice,  and  they  made  love. 

Marie  drew  me  away  into  the  dining  room,  to  leave 
them  alone. 

Marie  is  a  charming  little  maid,  whose  appearance 
is  neatness,  whose  face  is  confident  little  goodness. 
Her  hair  is  dark,  and  lies  low  upon  her  neck  in  wavy 
coils.  She  does  not  affect  the  fashion  in  coiffure, 
and  generally  is  a  little  behind  the  fashion  in  dress. 


LETTIE    COMES    OF   AGE      165 

Indeed  she  is  a  half-opened  bud  of  a  matron,  con- 
servative, full  of  proprieties,  and  of  gentle  indul- 
gence. She  now  smiled  at  me  with  a  warm  delight 
in  the  romance  upon  which  she  had  just  shed  her 
grace,  but  her  demureness  allowed  nothing  to  be  said. 
She  glanced  round  the  room,  and  out  of  the  window, 
and  observed : 

u  I  always  love  Woodside,  it  is  restful — there  is 
something  about  it — oh — assuring — really — it  com- 
forts one — I've  been  reading  Maxim  Gorky." 

"  You  shouldn't,"  said  I. 

"  Dadda  reads  them — but  I  don't  like  them — I 
shall  read  no  more.  I  like  Woodside — it  makes  you 
feel — really  at  home — it  soothes  one  like  the  old  wood 
does.  It  seems  right — life  is  proper  here — not  ul- 
cery " 

"  Just  healthy  living  flesh,"  said  I. 

"  No,  I  don't  mean  that,  because  one  feels — oh, 
as  if  the  world  were  old  and  good,  not  old  and 
bad." 

"  Young,  and  undisciplined,  and  mad,"  said  I. 

"  No — but  here,  you,  and  Lettie,  and  Leslie,  and 
me — it  is  so  nice  for  us,  and  it  seems  so  natural  and 
good.  Woodside  is  so  old,  and  so  sweet  and  serene — 
it  does  reassure  one." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  we  just  live,  nothing  abnormal, 
nothing  cruel  and  extravagant — just  natural — like 
doves  in  a  dovecote." 

"  Oh ! — doves ! — they  are  so — so  mushy." 

"  They  are  dear  little  birds,  doves.     You  look  like 
one  yourself,  with  the  black  band  round  your  neck. 
You  a  turtle-dove,  and  Lettie  a  wood-pigeon." 
i     "  Lettie  is  splendid,  isn't  she  ?     What  a  swing  she 


166      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

has — what  a  mastery !  I  wish  I  had  her  strength — 
she  just  marches  straight  through  in  the  right  way — 
I  think  she's  fine." 

I  laughed  to  see  her  so  enthusiastic  in  her  admira- 
tion of  my  sister.  Marie  is  such  a  gentle,  serious 
little  soul.  She  went  to  the  window.  I  kissed  her, 
and  pulled  two  berries  off  the  mistletoe.  I  made  her 
a  nest  in  the  heavy  curtains,  and  she  sat  there  look- 
ing out  on  the  snow. 

"  It  is  lovely,"  she  said  reflectively.  "  People 
must  be  ill  when  they  write  like  Maxim  Gorky." 

"  They  live  in  town,"  said  I. 

"  Yes — but  then  look  at  Hardy — life  seems  so 
terrible — it  isn't,  is  it  ?  " 

"  If  you  don't  feel  it,  it  isn't — if  you  don't  see  it. 
I  don't  see  it  for  myself." 

"  It's  lovely  enough  for  heaven." 

"  Eskimo's  heaven  perhaps.  And  we're  the  angels 
eh?     And  I'm  an  archangel." 

"  No,  you're  a  vain,  frivolous  man.  Is  that —  ? 
What  is  that  moving  through  the  trees  ?  " 

"  Somebody, coming,"  said  I. 

It  was  a  big,  burly  fellow  moving  curiously  through 
the  bushes. 

"  Doesn't  he  walk  funnily  ?  "  exclaimed  Marie. 
He  did.  When  he  came  near  enough  we  saw  he  was 
straddled  upon  Indian  snow-shoes.  Marie  peeped, 
and  laughed,  and  peeped,  and  hid  again  in  the  cur- 
tains laughing.  He  was  very  red,  and  looked  very 
hot,  as  he  hauled  the  great  meshes,  shuffling  over  the 
snow ;  his  body  rolled  most  comically.  I  went  to  the 
door  and  admitted  him,  while  Marie  stood  stroking 


LETTIE    COMES   OF   AGE      167 

her  face  with  her  hands  to  smooth  away  the  traces  of 
her  laughter. 

He  grasped  my  hand  in  a  very  large  and  heavy 
glove,  with  which  he  then  wiped  his  perspiring 
brow. 

"  Well,  Beardsall,  old  man,"  he  said,  "  and  how's 
things?  God,  I'm  not  'alf  hot!  Fine  idea 
though "     He  showed  me  his  snow-shoes. 

"  Ripping !  ain't  they  %    I've  come  like  an  Indian 

brave "   He  rolled  his  "  r's,"  and  lengthened  out 

his  "  ah's  "  tremendously — "  brra-ave." 

"  Couldn't  resist  it  though,"  he  continued. 

"  Remember  your  party  last  year — Girls  turned 
up  ?  On  the  war-path,  eh  ?  "  He  pursed  up  his  child- 
ish lips,  and  rubbed  his  fat  chin. 

Having  removed  his  coat,  and  the  white  wrap 
which  protected  his  collar,  not  to  mention  the  snow- 
flakes,  which  Rebecca  took  almost  as  an  insult  to  her- 
self— he  seated  his  fat,  hot  body  on  a  chair,  and 
proceeded  to  take  off  his  gaiters  and  his  boots.  Then 
he  donned  his  dancing  pumps,  and  I  led  him  up- 
stairs. 

"  Lord,  I  skimmed  here  like  a  swallow !  "  he  con- 
tinued— and  I  looked  at  his  corpulence. 

"  Never  met  a  soul,  though  they've  had  a  snow- 
plough  down  the  road.  I  saw  the  marks  of  a  cart 
up  the  drive,  so  I  guessed  the  Tempests  were  here. 
So  Lettie's  put  her  nose  in  Tempest's  nosebag — leaves 
nobody  a  chance,  that — some  women  have  rum  taste 
— only  they're  like  ravens,  they  go  for  the  gilding — 
don't  blame  'em — only  it  leaves  nobody  a  chance. 
Madie  Howitt's  coming,  I  suppose  ?  " 

I  ventured  something  about  the  snow. 


168      THE    WHITE   PEACOCK 

"  She'll  come,"  he  said,  u  if  it's  up  to  the  neck. 
Her  mother  saw  me  go  past." 

He  proceeded  with  his  toilet.  I  told  him  that 
Leslie  had  sent  the  carriage  for  Alice  and  Madie. 
He  slapped  his  fat  legs,  and  exclaimed : 

"  Miss  Gall — I  smell  sulphur !  Beardsall,  old  boy, 
there's  fun  in  the  wind.     Madie,  and  the  coy  little 

Tempest,  and "  he  hissed  a  line  of  a  music-hall 

song  through  his  teeth. 

During  all  this  he  had  straightened  his  cream  and 
lavender  waistcoat : 

"  Little  pink  of  a  girl  worked  it  for  me — a  real 
juicy  little  peach — chipped  somehow  or  other  " — he 
had  arranged  his  white  bow — he  had  drawn  forth 
two  rings,  one  a  great  signet,  the  other  gorgeous  with 
diamonds,  and  had  adjusted  them  on  his  fat  white 
fingers ;  he  had  run  his  fingers  delicately,  through  his 
hair,  which  rippled  backwards  a  trifle  tawdrily — 
being  fine  and  somewhat  sapless ;  he  had  produced  a 
box,  containing  a  cream  carnation  with  suitable 
greenery;  he  had  flicked  himself  with  a  silk  hand- 
kerchief, and  had  dusted  his  patent-leather  shoes; 
lastly,  he  had  pursed  up  his  lips  and  surveyed  himself 
with  great  satisfaction  in  the  mirror.  Then  he  was 
ready  to  be  presented. 

"  Couldn't  forget  to-day,  Lettie.  Wouldn't  have 
let  old  Pluto  and  all  the  bunch  of  'em  keep  me  away. 
I  skimmed  here  like  a  i  Brra-ave  '  on  my  snow-shoes, 
like  Hiawatha  coming  to  Minnehaha." 

"  Ah — that  was  famine,"  said  Marie  softly. 

"  And  this  is  a  feast,  a  gorgeous  feast,  Miss  Tem- 
pest," he  said,  bowing  to  Marie,  who  laughed. 

"  You  have  brought  some  music  ?  "  asked  mother. 


LETTIE    COMES    OF   AGE         169 

"  Wish  I  was  Orpheus,"  he  said,  uttering  his  words 
with  exaggerated  enunciation,  a  trick  he  had  caught 
from  his  singing  I  suppose. 

"  I  see  you're  in  full  feather,  Tempest.  '  Is  she 
kind  as  she  is  fair  ?  '  " 

"Who?" 

Will  pursed  up  his  smooth  sensuous  face  that 
looked  as  if  it  had  never  needed  shaving.  Lettie  went 
out  with  Marie,  hearing  the  bell  ring. 

"  She's  an  houri !  "  exclaimed  William.  "  Gad, 
I'm  almost  done  for!  She's  a  lotus-blossom! — But 
is  that  your  ring  she's  wearing,  Tempest  ?  " 

"  Keep  off,"  said  Leslie. 

"  And  don't  be  a  fool,"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  O-O-Oh !  "  drawled  Will,  "  so  we  must  look 
the  other  way !     '  Le  bel  homme  sans  merci ! '  " 

He  sighed  profoundly,  and  ran  his  fingers  through 
his  hair,  keeping  one  eye  on  himself  in  the  mirror 
as  he  did  so.  Then  he  adjusted  his  rings  and  went 
to  the  piano.  At  first  he  only  splashed  about  bril- 
liantly. Then  he  sorted  the  music,  and  took  a  volume 
of  Tchaikowsky's  songs.  He  began  the  long  opening 
of  one  song,  was  unsatisfied,  and  found  another,  a 
serenade  of  Don  Juan.     Then  at  last  he  began  to  sing. 

His  voice  is  a  beautiful  tenor,  softer,  more  mellow, 
less  strong  and  brassy  than  Leslie's.  Now  it  was 
raised  that  it  might  be  heard  upstairs.  As  the  melt- 
ing gush  poured  forth,  the  door  opened.  William 
softened  his  tones,  and  sang  '  dolce,'  but  he  did  not 
glance  round. 

"  Rapture ! — Choir  of  Angels,"  exclaimed  Alice, 
clasping  her  hands  and  gazing  up  at  the  lintel  of  the 
door  like  a  sainted  virgin. 


170      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

"  Persephone — Europa "  murmured  Madie,  at 

her  side,  getting  tangled  in  her  mythology. 

Alice  pressed  her  clasped  hands  against  her  bosom 
in  ecstasy  as  the  notes  rose  higher. 

"  Hold  me,  Madie,  or  I  shall  rush  to  extinction  in 
the  arms  of  this  siren."  She  clung  to  Madie.  The 
song  finished,  and  Will  turned  round. 

"  Take  it  calmly,  Miss  Gall,"  he  said.  "  I  hope 
you're  not  hit  too  badly." 

"  Oh — how  can  you  say  l  take  it  calmly ' — how 
can  the  savage  beast  be  calm !  " 

"  I'm  sorry  for  you,"  said  Will. 

"  You  are  the  cause  of  my  trouble,  dear  boy,"  re- 
plied Alice. 

"  I  never  thought  you'd  come,"  said  Madie. 

"  Skimmed  here  like  an  Indian  *  brra-ave,' "  said 
Will.  "  Like  Hiawatha  towards  Minnehaha.  I 
knew  you  were  coming." 

"  You  know,"  simpered  Madie,  "  It  gave  me  quite 
a  flutter  when  I  heard  the  piano.  It  is  a  year  since 
I  saw  you.    How  did  you  get  here  ?  " 

"  I  came  on  snow-shoes,"  said  he.  "  Keal  Indian, 
— came  from  Canada — they're  just  ripping." 

"  Oh — Aw-w  do  go  and  put  them  on  and  show  us 
— do ! — do  perform  for  us,  Billy  dear !  "  cried  Alice. 

"  Out  in  the  cold  and  driving  sleet — no  fear,"  said 
he,  and  he  turned  to  talk  to  Madie.  Alice  sat  chat- 
ting with  mother.  Soon  Tom  Smith  came,  and  took 
a  seat  next  to  Marie;  and  sat  quietly  looking  over 
his  spectacles  with  his  sharp  brown  eyes,  full  of 
scorn  for  William,  full  of  misgiving  for  Leslie  and 
Lettie. 

Shortly  after,  George  and  Emily  came  in.     They 


LETTIE    COMES   OF   AGE     171 

were  rather  nervous.  When  they  had  changed  their 
clogs,  and  Emily  had  taken  off  her  brown-paper  leg- 
gings, and  he  his  leather  ones,  they  were  not  anxious 
to  go  into  the  drawing  room.  I  was  surprised — and 
so  was  Emily — to  see  that  he  had  put  on  dancing 
shoes. 

Emily,  ruddy  from  the  cold  air,  was  wearing  a 
wine  coloured  dress,  which  suited  her  luxurious 
beauty.  George's  clothes  were  well  made — it  was  a 
point  on  which  he  was  particular,  being  somewhat 
self-conscious.  He  wore  a  jacket,  and  a  dark  bow. 
The  other  men  were  in  evening  dress. 

We  took  them  into  the  drawing-room,  where  the 
lamp  was  not  lighted,  and  the  glow  of  the  fire  was 
becoming  evident  in  the  dusk.  We  had  taken  up  the 
carpet — the  floor  was  all  polished — and  some  of  the 
furniture  was  taken  away — so  that  the  room  looked 
large  and  ample. 

There  was  general  hand  shaking,  and  the  new- 
comers were  seated  near  the  fire.  First  mother 
talked  to  them — then  the  candles  were  lighted  at  the 
piano,  and  Will  played  to  us.  He  is  an  exquisite 
pianist,  full  of  refinement  and  poetry.  It  is  as- 
tonishing, and  it  is  a  fact.  Mother  went  out  to 
attend  to  the  tea,  and  after  a  while,  Lettie  crossed 
over  to  Emily  and  George,  and,  drawing  up  a  low 
chair,  sat  down  to  talk  to  them.  Leslie  stood  in 
the  window  bay,  looking  out  on  the  lawn  where 
the  snow  grew  bluer  and  bluer  and  the  sky  almost 
purple. 

Lettie  put  her  hands  on  Emily's  lap,  and  said 
softly,  "  Look — do  you  like  it?  " 

"  What !  engaged  ?  "  exclaimed  Emily. 


172      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

i 

"  I  am  of  age,  you  see,"  said  Lettie. 

"  It  is  a  beauty,  isn't  it.  Let  me  try  it  on,  will 
you?  Yes,  I've  never  had  a  ring.  There,  it  won't 
go  over  my  knuckle — no — I  thought  not.  Aren't  my 
hands  red  ? — it's  the  cold — yes,  it's  too  small  for  me. 
I  do  like  it." 

George  sat  watching  the  play  of  the  four  hands  in 
his  sister's  lap,  two  hands  moving  so  white  and  fasci- 
nating in  the  twilight,  the  other  two  rather  red,  with 
rather  large  bones,  looking  so  nervous,  almost  hys- 
terical. The  ring  played  between  the  four  hands, 
giving  an  occasional  flash  from  the  twilight  or  candle- 
light. 

"  You  must  congratulate  me,"  she  said,  in  a  very 
low  voice,  and  two  of  us  knew  she  spoke  to  him. 

"  As,  yes,"  said  Emily,  "  I  do." 

"  And  you  ? "  she  said,  turning  to  him  who  was 
silent. 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  say  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Say  what  you  like." 

"  Sometime,  when  I've  thought  about  it." 

"  Cold  dinners !  "  laughed  Lettie,  awaking  Alice's 
old  sarcasm  at  his  slowness. 

"  What  ? "  he  exclaimed,  looking  up  suddenly  at 
her  taunt.  She  knew  she  was  playing  false ;  she  put 
the  ring  on  her  finger  and  went  across  the  room  to 
Leslie,  laying  her  arm  over  his  shoulder,  and  leaning 
her  head  against  him,  murmuring  softly  to  him.  He, 
poor  fellow,  was  delighted  with  her,  for  she  did  not 
display  her  fondness  often. 

We  went  in  to  tea.  The  yellow  shaded  lamp  shone 
softly  over  the  table,  where  Christmas  roses  spread 
wide  open  among  some  dark-coloured  leaves;  where 


LETTIE    COMES    OF   AGE     173 

the  china  and  silver  and  the  coloured  dishes  shone 
delightfully.  We  were  all  very  gay  and  bright ;  who 
could  be  otherwise,  seated  round  a  well-laid  table, 
with  young  company,  and  the  snow  outside.  George 
felt  awkward  when  he  noticed  his  hands  over  the 
table,  but  for  the  rest,  we  enjoyed  ourselves  exceed- 
ingly. 

The  conversation  veered  inevitably  to  marriage. 

"  But  what  have  you  to  say  about  it,  Mr.  Smith  I  " 
asked  little  Marie. 

"  Nothing  yet,"  replied  he  in  his  peculiar  grating 
voice.  "  My  marriage  is  in  the  unanalysed  solution 
of  the  future — when  I've  done  the  analysis  I'll  tell 

you." 

"  But  what  do  you  think  about  it —  ?  " 

"  Do  you  remember  Lettie,"  said  Will  Bancroft, 
"  that  little  red-haired  girl  who  was  in  our  year  at 
college  ?  She  has  just  married  old  Craven  out  of 
Physic's  department." 

"  I  wish  her  joy  of  it !  "  said  Lettie ;  "  wasn't  she 
an  old  flame  of  yours  ?  " 

"  Among  the  rest,"  he  replied  smiling.  "  Don't 
you  remember  you  were  one  of  them;  you  had  your 
day." 

"  What  a  joke  that  was !  "  exclaimed  Lettie,  "  we 
used  to  go  in  the  arboretum  at  dinner-time.  You 
lasted  half  one  autumn.  Do  you  remember  when  we 
gave  a  concert,  you  and  I,  and  Frank  Wishaw,  in  the 
small  lecture  theatre  ?  " 

"  When  the  Prinny  was  such  an  old  buck,  flatter- 
ing you,"  continued  Will.  "  And  that  night  Wishaw 
took  you  to  the  station — sent  old  Gettim  for  a  cab 
and  saw  you  in,  large  as  life — never  was  such  a  thing 


174      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

before.  Old  Wishaw  won  you  with  that  cab,  didn't 
he?" 

"  Oh,  how  I  swelled !  "  cried  Lettie.  "  There  were 
you  all  at  the  top  of  the  steps  gazing  with  admira- 
tion! But  Frank  Wishaw  was  not  a  nice  fellow, 
though  he  played  the  violin  beautifully.  I  never 
liked  his  eyes " 

"  No,"  added  Will.  "  He  didn't  last  long,  did 
he? — though  long  enough  to  oust  me.  We  had  a 
giddy  ripping  time  in  Coll.,  didn't  we  ?  " 

"  It  was  not  bad,"  said  Lettie.  "  Rather  foolish. 
I'm  afraid  I  wasted  my  three  years." 

"  I  think,"  said  Leslie,  smiling,  "  you  improved 
the  shining  hours  to  great  purpose." 

It  pleased  him  to  think  what  a  flirt  she  had  been, 
since  the  flirting  had  been  harmless,  and  only  added 
to  the  glory  of  his  final  conquest.  George  felt  very 
much  left  out  during  these  reminiscences. 

When  we  had  finished  tea,  we  adjourned  to  the 
drawing-room.  It  was  in  darkness,  save  for  the  fire 
light.  The  mistletoe  had  been  discovered,  and  was 
being  appreciated. 

"  Georgie,  Sybil,  Sybil,  Georgie,  come  and  kiss 
me,"  cried  Alice. 

Will  went  forward  to  do  her  the  honour.  She 
ran  to  me,  saying,  "  Get  away,  you  fat  fool — keep  on 
your  own  preserves.  Now  Georgie  dear,  come  and 
kiss  me,  'cause  you  haven't  got  nobody  else  but  me, 
no  y'  ave  n't.  Do  you  want  to  run  away,  like  Georgy- 
Porgy  apple-pie  ?  Shan't  cry,  sure  I  shan't,  if  you 
are  ugly." 

She  took  him  and  kissed  him  on  either  cheek,  say- 


LETTIE    COMES    OF   AGE    175 

ing  softly,  "  You  shan't  be  so  serious,  old  boy — buck 
up,  there's  a  good  fellow." 

We  lighted  the  lamp,  and  charades  were  proposed, 
Leslie  and  Lettie,  Will  and  Madie  and  Alice  went 
out  to  play.  The  first  scene  was  an  elopement  to 
Gretna  Green — with  Alice  a  maid  servant,  a  part 
that  she  played  wonderfully  well  as  a  caricature.  It 
was  very  noisy,  and  extremely  funny.  Leslie  was  in 
high  spirits.  It  was  remarkable  to  observe  that,  as 
he  became  more  animated,  more  abundantly  ener- 
getic, Lettie  became  quieter.  The  second  scene, 
which  they  were  playing  as  excited  melodrama,  she 
turned  into  small  tragedy  with  her  bitterness.  They 
went  out,  and  Lettie  blew  us  kisses  from  the  door- 
way. 

"  Doesn't  she  act  well  ? "  exclaimed  Marie,  speak- 
ing to  Tom. 

"  Quite  realistic,"  said  he. 

"  She  could  always  play  a  part  well,"  said  mother. 

"  I  should  think,"  said  Emily,  "  she  could  take  a 
role  in  life  and  play  up  to  it." 

"  I  believe  she  could,"  mother  answered,  "  there 
would  only  be  intervals  when  she  would  see  herself 
in  a  mirror  acting." 

"  And  what  then  ?  "  said  Marie. 

"  She  would  feel  desperate,  and  wait  till  the  fit 
passed  off,"  replied  my  mother,  smiling  significantly. 

The  players  came  in  again.  Lettie  kept  her  part 
subordinate.  Leslie  played  with  brilliance;  it  was 
rather  startling  how  he  excelled.  The  applause  was 
loud — but  we  could  not  guess  the  word.  Then 
they  laughed,  and  told  us.  We  clamoured  for 
more. 


176      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  Do  go,  dear,"  said  Lettie  to  Leslie,  "  and  I  will 
be  helping  to  arrange  the  room  for  the  dances.  I 
want  to  watch  you — I  am  rather  tired — it  is  so  ex- 
citing— Emily  will  take  my  place." 

They  went.  Marie  and  Tom,  and  Mother  and  I 
played  bridge  in  one  corner.  Lettie  said  she  wanted 
to  show  George  some  new  pictures,  and  they  bent 
over  a  portfolio  for  some  time.  Then  she  bade  him 
help  her  to  clear  the  room  for  the  dances. 

"  Well,  you  have  had  time  to  think,"  she  said  to 
him. 

"  A  short  time,"  he  replied.    "What  shall  I  say  ?  " 

"  Tell  me  what  you've  been  thinking." 

"  Well — about    you "    he    answered,    smiling 

foolishly. 

"  What  about  me? "  she  asked,  venturesome. 

"  About  you,  how  you  were  at  college,"  he  re- 
plied. 

"  Oh !  I  had  a  good  time.  I  had  plenty  of  boys. 
I  liked  them  all,  till  I  found  there  was  nothing  in 
them;  then  they  tired  me." 

"  Poor  boys !  "  he  said  laughing.  "  Were  they  all 
alike  ? " 

"  All  alike,"  she  replied,  "  and  they  are  still." 

"  Pity,"  he  said,  smiling.     "  It's  hard  lines  on 

you." 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  It  leaves  you  nobody  to  care  for "  he  replied. 

"  How  very  sarcastic  you  are.  You  make  one 
reservation." 

"Do  I  ?  "  he  answered,  smiling.  "  But  you  fire 
sharp  into  the  air,  and  then  say  we're  all  blank  car- 
tridges— except  one,  of  course." 


LETTIE    COMES    OF    AGE     177 

"  You  ?  "  she  queried,  ironically — "  oh,  you  would 
forever  hang  fire." 

"  l  Cold  dinners ! '  "  he  quoted  in  bitterness.  "  But 
you  knew  I  loved  you.     You  knew  well  enough." 

"  Past  tense,"  she  replied,  "  thanks — make  it  per- 
fect next  time." 

"  It's  you  who  hang  fire — it's  you  who  make  me," 
he  said. 

"  '  And  so  from  the  retort  circumstantial  to  the 
retort  direct/  "  she  replied,  smiling. 

"  You  see — you  put  me  off,"  he  insisted,  growing 
excited.  For  reply,  she  held  out  her  hand  and 
showed  him  the  ring.  She  smiled  very  quietly.  He 
stared  at  her  with  darkening  anger. 

"  Will  you  gather  the  rugs  and  stools  together,  and 
put  them  in  that  corner  ?  "  she  said. 

He  turned  away  to  do  so,  but  he  looked  back  again, 
and  said,  in  low,  passionate  tones: 

"  You  never  counted  me.  I  was  a  figure  naught 
in  the  counting  all  along." 

"  See — there  is  a  chair  that  will  be  in  the  way," 
she  replied  calmly;  but  she  flushed,  and  bowed  her 
head.  She  turned  away,  and  he  dragged  an  armful 
of  rugs  into  a  corner. 

When  the  actors  came  in,  Lettie  was  moving  a 
vase  of  flowers.  While  they  played,  she  sat  looking 
on,  smiling,  clapping  her  hands.  When  it  was  fin- 
ished Leslie  came  and  whispered  to  her,  whereon  she 
kissed  him  unobserved,  delighting  and  exhilarating 
him  more  than  ever.  Then  they  went  out  to  prepare 
the  next  act. 

George  did  not  return  to  her  till  she  called  him  to 
help  her.    Her  colour  was  high  in  her  cheeks. 


178       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

"  How  do  you  know  you  did  not  count  ?  "  she  said, 
nervously,  unable  to  resist  the  temptation  to  play  this 
forbidden  game. 

He  laughed,  and  for  a  moment  could  not  find  any 
reply. 

"  I  do !  "  he  said.  "  You  knew  you  could  have  me 
any  day,  so  you  didn't  care." 

"  Then  we're  behaving  in  quite  the  traditional 
fashion,"  she  answered  with  irony. 

"  But  you  know,"  he  said,  "  you  began  it.  You 
played  with  me,  and  showed  me  heaps  of  things — 
and  those  mornings — when  I  was  binding  corn,  and 
when  I  was  gathering  the  apples,  and  when  I  was 
finishing  the  straw-stack — you  came  then — I  can 
never  forget  those  mornings — things  will  never  be 
the  same — You  have  awakened  my  life — I  imagine 
things  that  I  couldn't  have  done." 

"  Ah ! — I  am  very  sorry,  I  am  so  sorry." 

"  Don't  be !— don't  say  so.    But  what  of  me  ?  " 

"  What  ?  "  she  asked  rather  startled.  He  smiled 
again;  he  felt  the  situation,  and  was  a  trifle  dra- 
matic, though  deadly  in  earnest. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  you  start  me  off — then  leave 
me  at  a  loose  end.    What  am  I  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  You  are  a  man,"  she  replied. 

He  laughed.  "  What  does  that  mean  ? "  he  said 
contemptuously.     • 

"  You  can  go  on — which  way  you  like,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"  Oh,  well,"  he  said,  "  we'll  see." 

"  Don't  you  think  so  \  "  she  asked,  rather  anxious. 

"  I  don't  know — we'll  see,"  he  replied. 

They  went  out  with  some  things.    In  the  hall,  she 


LETTIE    COMES    OF   AGE      179 

turned  to  him,  with  a  break  in  her  voice,  saying: 
"  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry — I  am  so  sorry." 

He  said,  very  low  and  soft, — "  Never  mind — 
never  mind." 

She  heard  the  laughter  of  those  preparing  the 
charade.  She  drew  away  and  went  in  the  drawing 
room,  saying  aloud: 

"  Now  I  think  everything  is  ready — we  can  sit 
down  now." 

After  the  actors  had  played  the  last  charade,  Les- 
lie came  and  claimed  her. 

"  Now,  Madam — are  you  glad  to  have  me  back  ?  " 

"  That  I  am,"  she  said.  "  Don't  leave  me  again, 
will  you?" 

"  I  won't,"  he  replied,  drawing  her  beside  him. 
"  I  have  left  my  handkerchief  in  the  dining-room," 
he  continued ;  and  they  went  out  together. 

Mother  gave  me  permission  for  the  men  to  smoke. 

"  You  know,"  said  Marie  to  Tom,  "  I  am  surprised 
that  a  scientist  should  smoke.  Isn't  it  a  waste  of 
time?" 

"  Come  and  light  me,"  he  said. 

"  Nay,"  she  replied,  "  let  science  light  you." 

"  Science  does — Ah,  but  science  is  nothing  with- 
out a  girl  to  set  it  going — Yes — Come  on — now, 
don't  burn  my  precious  nose." 

"  Poor  George !  "  cried  Alice.  "  Does  he  want  a 
ministering  angel  ? " 

He  was  half  lying  in  a  big  arm  chair. 

"  I  do,"  he  replied.  "  Come  on,  be  my  box  of 
soothing  ointment.    My  matches  are  all  loose." 

"I'll  strike  it  on  my  heel,  eh?  Now,  rouse  up, 
or  I  shall  have  to  sit  on  your  knee  to  reach  you." 


180       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

"  Poor  dear — he  shall  be  luxurious,"  and  the 
dauntless  girl  perched  on  his  knee. 

"  What  if  I  singe  your  whiskers — would  you  send 
an  Armada  ?  Aw — aw — pretty ! — You  do  look  sweet 
— doesn't  he  suck  prettily  ?  " 

"  Do  you  envy  me  ? "  he  asked,  smiling  whim- 
sically. 

"Ka— ther!" 

"  Shame  to  debar  you,"  he  said,  almost  with  ten- 
derness. 

"  Smoke  with  me." 

He  offered  her  the  cigarette  from  his  lips.  She 
was  surprised,  and  exceedingly  excited  by  his  ten- 
der tone.     She  took  the  cigarette. 

"  I'll  make  a  heifer — like  Mrs.  Daws,"  she  said. 

"  Don't  call  yourself  a  cow,"  he  said. 

"  Nasty  thing — let  me  go,"  she  exclaimed. 

"  ~No — you  fit  me — don't  go,"  he  replied,  holding 
her. 

"  Then  you  must  have  growed.  Oh — what  great 
hands — let  go.     Lettie,  come  and  pinch  him." 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  asked  my  sister. 

"  He  won't  let  me  go." 

"  He'll  be  tired  first,"  Lettie  answered. 

Alice  was  released,  but  she  did  not  move.  She 
sat  with  wrinkled  forehead  trying  his  cigarette.  She 
blew  out  little  tiny  whiffs  of  smoke,  and  thought 
about  it;  she  sent  a  small  puff  down  her  nostrils, 
and  rubbed  her  nose. 

"  It's  not  as  nice  as  it  looks,"  she  said. 

He  laughed  at  her  with  masculine  indulgence. 

"  Pretty  boy,"  she  said,  stroking  his  chin. 

"  Am  1 I  "  he  murmured  languidly. 


LETTIE    COMES    OF   AGE     181 

"  Cheek ! "  she  cried,  and  she  boxed  his  ears. 
Then  "  Oh,  pore  fing !  "  she  said,  and  kissed  him. 

She  turned  round  to  wink  at  my  mother  and  at 
Lettie.  She  found  the  latter  sitting  in  the  old  posi- 
tion with  Leslie,  two  in  a  chair.  He  was  toying  with 
her  arm;  holding  it  and  stroking  it. 

"  Isn't  it  lovely  ? "  he  said,  kissing  the  forearm, 
"  so  warm  and  yet  so  white.  Io — it  reminds  one  of 
Io." 

"  Somebody  else  talking  about  heifers,"  mur- 
mured Alice  to  George. 

"  Can  you  remember,"  said  Leslie,  speaking  low, 
"  that  man  in  Merimee  who  wanted  to  bite  his  wife 
and  taste  her  blood  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  said  Lettie.  "  Have  you  a  strain  of  wild 
beast  too  ? " 

"  Perhaps,"  he  laughed,  "  I  wish  these  folks  had 
gone.  Your  hair  is  all  loose  in  your  neck — it  looks 
lovely  like  that  though " 

Alice,  the  mocker,  had  unbuttoned  the  cuff  of  the 
thick  wrist  that  lay  idly  on  her  knee,  and  had  pushed 
his  sleeve  a  little  way. 

"  Ah !  "  she  said.  "  What  a  pretty  arm,  brown  as 
an  overbaked  loaf !  " 

He  watched  her  smiling. 

"  Hard  as  a  brick,"  she  added. 

"  Do  you  like  it  ?  "  he  drawled. 

"  No,"  she  said  emphatically,  in  a  tone  that  meant 
"  yes."  "  It  makes  me  feel  shivery."  He  smiled 
again. 

She  superposed  her  tiny  pale,  flower-like  hands  on 
his. 

He  lay  back  looking  at  them  curiously. 


182      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  Do  you  feel  as  if  your  hands  were  full  of  sil- 
ver ? "  she  asked  almost  wistfully,  mocking. 

"  Better  than  that,"  he  replied  gently. 

"  And  your  heart  full  of  gold  8 "  she  mocked. 

"  Of  hell !  "  he  replied  briefly. 

Alice  looked  at  him  searchingly. 

"  And  am  I  like  a  blue-bottle  buzzing  in  your  win- 
dow to  keep  your  company  I  "  she  asked. 

He  laughed. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said,  slipping  down  and  leaving 
him. 

"  Don't  go,"  he  said — but  too  late. 


The  irruption  of  Alice  into  the  quiet,  sentimental 
party  was  like  taking  a  bright  light  into  a  sleeping 
hen-roost.  Everybody  jumped  up  and  wanted  to  do 
something.    They  cried  out  for  a  dance. 

"  Emily — play  a  waltz — you  won't  mind,  will 
you,  George  ?  What !  You  don't  dance,  Tom  ?  Oh, 
Marie ! " 

"  I  don't  mind,  Lettie,"  protested  Marie. 

"  Dance  with  me,  Alice,"  said  George,  smiling 
"  and  Cyril  will  take  Miss  Tempest." 

"  Glory ! — come  on — do  or  die !  "  said  Alice. 

We  began  to  dance.  I  saw  Lettie  watching,  and 
I  looked  round.  George  was  waltzing  with  Alice, 
dancing  passably,  laughing  at  her  remarks.  Lettie 
was  not  listening  to  what  her  lover  was  saying  to 
her;  she  was  watching  the  laughing  pair.  At  the 
end  she  went  to  George. 

"  Why !  "  she  said,  "  You  can " 

"  Did  you  think  I  couldn't  ?  "  he  said.    "  You  are 


LETTIE    COMES    OF   AGE      183 

pledged  for  a  minuet  and  a  valeta  with  me — you  re- 
member ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  promise  ?  n 

"Yes.     But " 

"  I  went  to  Nottingham  and  learned." 

"  Why — because  ? — Very  well,  Leslie,  a  mazurka. 
Will  you  play  it,  Emily — Yes,  it  is  quite  easy.  Tom, 
you  look  quite  happy  talking  to  the  Mater." 

We  danced  the  mazurka  with  the  same  partners. 
He  did  it  better  than  I  expected — without  much  awk- 
wardness— but  stiffly.  However,  he  moved  quietly 
through  the  dance,  laughing  and  talking  abstractedly 
all  the  time  with  Alice. 

Then  Lettie  cried  a  change  of  partners,  and  they 
took  their  valeta.  There  was  a  little  triumph  in  his 
smile. 

"  Do  you  congratulate  me  ? "  he  said. 

"  I  am  surprised,"  she  answered. 

"  So  am  I.    But  I  congratulate  myself." 

"  Do  you  ?    Well,  so  do  I." 

"  Thanks !    You're  beginning  at  last." 

"  What  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  To  believe  in  me." 

"  Don't  begin  to  talk  again,"  she  pleaded,  sadly, 
"  nothing  vital." 

"  Do  you  like  dancing  with  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Now,  be  quiet — that's  real,"  she  replied. 

"  By  Heaven,  Lettie,  you  make  me  laugh !  " 

"Do  I ?  "  she  said — "  What  if  you  married  Alice 
— soon." 

"  I — Alice ! — Lettie ! !  Besides,  I've  only  a  hun- 
dred pounds  in  the  world,  and  no  prospects  whatever. 


184       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

That's  why — well — I  shan't  marry  anybody — unless 
its  somebody  with  money." 

"  I've  a  couple  of  thousand  or  so  of  my  own " 

"  Have  you  ?  It  would  have  done  nicely,"  he  said 
smiling. 

"  You  are  different  to-night,"  she  said,  leaning  on 
him. 

"  Am  I  ? "  he  replied — "  It's  because  things  are 
altered  too.  They're  settled  one  way  now — for  the 
present  at  least." 

"  Don't  forget  the  two  steps  this  time,"  said  she 
smiling,  and  adding  seriously,  "  You  see,  I  couldn't 
help  it." 

"JSTo,  why  not?" 

"  Things !  I  have  been  brought  up  to  expect  it — 
everybody  expected  it — and  you're  bound  to  do  what 
people  expect  you  to  do — you  can't  help  it.  We 
can't  help  ourselves,  we're  all  chess-men,"  she  said. 

"  Ay,"  he  agreed,  but  doubtfully. 

"  I  wonder  where  it  will  end,"  she  said. 

"  Lettie !  "  he  cried,  and  his  hand  closed  in  a  grip 
on  her's. 

"  Don't — don't  say  anything— it's  no  good  now, 
it's  too  late.  It's  done;  and  what  is  done,  is  done. 
If  you  talk  any  more,  I  shall  say  I'm  tired  and  stop 
the  dance.    Don't  say  another  word." 

He  did  not — at  least  to  her.  Their  dance  came  to 
an  end.  Then  he  took  Marie  who  talked  winsomely 
to  him.  As  he  waltzed  with  Marie  he  regained  his 
animated  spirits.  He  was  very  lively  the  rest  of  the 
evening,  quite  astonishing  and  reckless.  At  supper 
he  ate  everything,  and  drank  much  wine. 

"  Have  some  more  turkey,  Mr.  Saxton." 


LETTIE    COMES    OF    AGE      185 

"  Thanks — but  give  me  some  of  that  stuff  in  brown 
jelly,  will  you  ?    It's  new  to  me." 

"  Have  some  of  this  trifle,  Georgie  ?  " 

"  I  will — you  are  a  jewel." 

"  So  will  you  be — a  yellow  topaz  tomorrow !  " 

"  Ah !  tomorrow's  tomorrow !  " 

After  supper  was  over,  Alice  cried: 

"  Georgie,  dear — have  you  finished  ? — don't  die 
the  death  of  a  king — King  John — I  can't  spare  you, 
pet." 

"  Are  you  so  fond  of  me  ?  " 

"  I  am — Aw !  I'd  throw  my  best  Sunday  hat 
under  a  milk-cart  for  you,  I  would !  " 

"  'No ;  throw  yourself  into  the  milk-cart — some 
Sunday,  when  I'm  driving." 

"  Yes — come  and  see  us,"  said  Emily. 

"  How  nice !  Tomorrow  you  won't  want  me, 
Georgie  dear,  so  I'll  come.  Don't  you  wish  Pa  would 
make  Tono-Bungay?  Wouldn't  you  marry  me 
then?" 

"  I  would,"  said  he. 

When  the  cart  came,  and  Alice,  Madie,  Tom  and 
Will  departed,  Alice  bade  Lettie  a  long  farewell — 
blew  Georgie  many  kisses — promised  to  love  him 
faithful  and  true — and  was  gone. 

George  and  Emily  lingered  a  short  time. 

Now  the  room  seemed  empty  and  quiet,  and  all  the 
laughter  seemed  to  have  gone.  The  conversation 
dribbled  away;  there  was  an  awkwardness. 

"  Well,"  said  George  heavily,  at  last.  "  To-day  is 
nearly  gone — it  will  soon  be  tomorrow.  I  feel  a  bit 
drunk!     We  had  a  good  time  to-night." 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  Lettie. 


186       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

They  put  on  their  clogs  and  leggings,  and  wrapped 
themselves  up,  and  stood  in  the  hall. 

"  We  must  go,"  said  George,  "  before  the  clock 
strikes, — like  Cinderella — look  at  my  glass  slip- 
pers— "  he  pointed  to  his  clogs.  "  Midnight,  and 
rags,  and  fleeing.  Very  appropriate.  I  shall  call 
myself  Cinderella  who  wouldn't  fit.  I  believe  I'm 
a  bit  drunk — the  world  looks  funny." 

We  looked  out  at  the  haunting  wanness  of  the 
hills  beyond  Nethermere.  "  Good-bye,  Lettie ;  good- 
bye." 

They  were  out  in  the  snow,  which  peered  pale  and 
eerily  from  the  depths  of  the  black  wood. 

"  Good-bye,"  he  called  out  of  the  darkness.  Leslie 
slammed  the  door,  and  drew  Lettie  away  into  the 
drawing-room.  The  sound  of  his  low,  vibrating  satis- 
faction reached  us,  as  he  murmured  to  her,  and 
laughed  low.  Then  he  kicked  the  door  of  the  room 
shut.  Lettie  began  to  laugh  and  mock  and  talk  in  a 
high  strained  voice.  The  sound  of  their  laughter 
mingled  was  strange  and  incongruous.  Then  her 
voice  died  down. 

Marie  sat  at  the  little  piano — which  was  put  in  the 
dining-room — strumming  and  tinkling  the  false, 
quavering  old  notes.  It  was  a  depressing  jingling  in 
the  deserted  remains  of  the  feast,  but  she  felt  senti- 
mental, and  enjoyed  it. 

This  was  a  gap  between  to-day  and  tomorrow,  a 
dreary  gap,  where  one  sat  and  looked  at  the  dreary 
comedy  of  yesterdays,  and  the  grey  tragedies  of 
dawning  tomorrows,  vacantly,  missing  the  poignancy 
of  an  actual  to-day. 

The  cart  returned. 


LETTIE    COMES    OF   AGE     187 

"  Leslie,  Leslie,  John  is  here,  come  along !  "  called 
Marie. 

There  was  no  answer. 

"  Leslie — John  is  waiting  in  the  snow." 

"  All  right" 

"  But  you  must  come  at  once."  She  went  to  the 
door  and  spoke  to  him.  Then  he  came  out  looking 
rather  sheepish,  and  rather  angry  at  the  interruption. 
Lettie  followed,  tidying  her  hair.  She  did  not  laugh 
and  look  confused,  as  most  girls  do  on  similar  occa- 
sions; she  seemed  very  tired. 

At  last  Leslie  tore  himself  away,  and  after  more 
returns  for  a  farewell  kiss,  mounted  the  carriage, 
which  stood  in  a  pool  of  yellow  light,  blurred  and 
splotched  with  shadows,  and  drove  away,  calling 
something  about  tomorrow. 


PAET  II 


CHAPTEK   I 

STRANGE    BLOSSOMS    AND    STRANGE    NEW    BUDDING 

Winter  lay  a  long  time  prostrate  on  the  earth.  The 
men  in  the  mines  of  Tempest,  Warrall  and  Co.  came 
out  on  strike  on  a  question  of  the  re-arranging  of  the 
working  system  down  below.  The  distress  was  not 
awful,  for  the  men  were  on  the  whole  wise  and  well- 
conditioned,  but  there  was  a  dejection  over  the  face 
of  the  country-side,  and  some  suffered  keenly. 
Everywhere,  along  the  lanes  and  in  the  streets, 
loitered  gangs  of  men,  unoccupied  and  spiritless. 
Week  after  week  went  on,  and  the  agents  of  the 
Miner's  Union  held  great  meetings,  and  the  ministers 
held  prayer-meetings,  but  the  strike  continued. 
There  was  no  rest.  Always  the  crier's  bell  was  ring- 
ing in  the  street ;  always  the  servants  of  the  company 
were  delivering  handbills,  stating  the  case  clearly, 
and  always  the  people  talked  and  filled  the  months 
with  bitter,  and  then  hopeless,  resenting.  Schools 
gave  breakfasts,  chapels  gave  soup,  well-to-do  people 
gave  teas — the  children  enjoyed  it.  But  we,  who 
knew  the  faces  of  the  old  men  and  the  privations  of 
the  women,  breathed  a  cold,  disheartening  atmo- 
sphere of  sorrow  and  trouble. 

Determined  poaching  was  carried  on  in  the 
Squire's  woods  and  warrens.  Annable  defended  his 
game  heroically.     One  man  was  at  home  with  a  leg 

101 


193       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

supposed  to  be  wounded  by  a  fall  on  the  slippery 
roads — but  really,  by  a  man-trap  in  the  woods.  Then 
Annable  caught  two  men,  and  they  were  sentenced  to 
two  months'  imprisonment. 

On  both  the  lodge  gates  of  Highclose — on  our 
side  and  on  the  far  Eberwich  side — were  posted 
notices  that  trespassers  on  the  drive  or  in  the  grounds 
would  be  liable  to  punishment.  These  posters  were 
soon  mudded  over,  and  fresh  ones  fixed. 

The  men  loitering  on  the  road  by  Eethermere, 
looked  angrily  at  Lettie  as  she  passed,  in  her  black 
furs  which  Leslie  had  given  her,  and  their  remarks 
were  pungent.  She  heard  them,  and  they  burned  in 
her  heart.  From  my  mother  she  inherited  demo- 
cratic views,  which  she  now  proceeded  to  debate 
warmly  with  her  lover. 

Then  she  tried  to  talk  to  Leslie  about  the  strike. 
He  heard  her  with  mild  superiority,  smiled,  and  said 
she  did  not  know.  Women  jumped  to  conclusions 
at  the  first  touch  of  feeling;  men  must  look  at  a 
thing  all  round,  then  make  a  decision — nothing  hasty 
and  impetuous — careful,  long-thought-out,  correct  de- 
cisions. Women  could  not  be  expected  to  understand 
these  things,  business  was  not  for  them;  in  fact, 
their  mission  was  above  business — etc.,  etc.  Un- 
fortunately Lettie  was  the  wrong  woman  to  treat 
thus. 

"  So ! "  said  she,  with  a  quiet,  hopeless  tone  of 
finality. 

"  There  now,  you  understand,  don't  you,  Minne- 
haha, my  Laughing  Water — So  laugh  again,  darling, 
and  don't  worry  about  these  things.  We  will  not 
talk  about  them  any  more,  eh  ? " 


STRANGE    NEW   BUDDING    193 

"  No  more." 

"  No  more — that's  right — you  are  as  wise  as  an 
angel.  Come  here — pooh,  the  wood  is  thick  and 
lonely !  Look,  there  is  nobody  in  the  world  but  us, 
and  you  are  my  heaven  and  earth !  " 

"  And  hell  %  " 

"  Ah — if  you  are  so  cold — how  cold  you  are ! — it 
gives  me  little  shivers  when  you  look  so — and  I  am 
always  hot — Lettie !  " 

"  Well  ? " 

"  You  are  cruel !  Kiss  me — now — No,  I  don't 
want  your  cheek — kiss  me  yourself.  Why  don't  you 
say  something  %  " 

"  What  for  ?  What's  the  use  of  saying  anything 
when  there's  nothing  immediate  to  say  ? " 

"  You  are  offended !  " 

"  It  feels  like  snow  to-day,"  she  answered. 

At  last,  however,  winter  began  to  gather  her  limbs, 
to  rise,  and  drift  with  saddened  garments  northward. 

The  strike  was  over.  The  men  had  compromised. 
It  was  a  gentle  way  of  telling  them  they  were  beaten. 
But  the  strike  was  over. 

The  birds  fluttered  and  dashed ;  the  catkins  on  the 
hazel  loosened  their  winter  rigidity,  and  swung  soft 
tassels.  All  through  the  day  sounded  long,  sweet 
whistlings  from  the  brushes ;  then  later,  loud,  laugh- 
ing shouts  of  bird  triumph  on  every  hand. 

I  remember  a  day  when  the  breast  of  the  hills  was 
heaving  in  a  last  quick  waking  sigh,  and  the  blue 
eyes  of  the  waters  opened  bright.  Across  the  infinite 
skies  of  March  great  rounded  masses  of  cloud  had 
sailed  stately  all  day,  domed  with  a  white  radiance, 


194       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

softened  with  faint,  fleeting  shadows  as  if  companies 
of  angels  were  gently  sweeping  past;  adorned  with 
resting,  silken  shadows  like  those  of  a  full  white 
breast.  All  day  the  clouds  had  moved  on  to  their  vast 
destination,  and  I  had  clung  to  the  earth  yearning 
and  impatient.  I  took  a  brush  and  tried  to  paint 
them,  then  I  raged  at  myself.  I  wished  that  in  all 
the  wild  valley  where  cloud  shadows  were  travelling 
like  pilgrims,  something  would  call  me  forth  from 
my  rooted  loneliness.  Through  all  the  grandeur  of 
the  white  and  blue  day,  the  poised  cloud  masses 
swung  their  slow  flight,  and  left  me  unnoticed. 

At  evening,  they  were  all  gone,  and  the  empty  sky, 
like  a  blue  bubble  over  us,  swam  on  its  pale  bright 
rims. 

Leslie  came,  and  asked  his  betrothed  to  go  out  with 
him,  under  the  darkening  wonderful  bubble.  She 
bade  me  accompany  her,  and,  to  escape  from  myself, 
I  went. 

It  was  warm  in  the  shelter  of  the  wood  and  in  the 
crouching  hollows  of  the  hills.  But  over  the  slanting 
shoulders  of  the  hills  the  wind  swept,  whipping  the 
redness  into  our  faces. 

"  Get  me  some  of  those  alder  catkins,  Leslie,"  said 
Lettie,  as  we  came  down  to  the  stream. 

"  Yes,  those,  where  they  hang  over  the  brook. 
They  are  ruddy  like  new  blood  freshening  under  the 
skin.  Look,  tassels  of  crimson  and  gold ! "  She 
pointed  to  the  dusty  hazel  catkins  mingled  with  the 
alder  on  her  bosom.  Then  she  began  to  quote  Chris- 
tina Kossetti's  "  A  Birthday." 

"  I'm  glad  you  came  to  take  me  a  walk,"  she  con- 
tinued— "  Doesn't  Strelley  Mill  look  pretty  ?     Like  a 


STRANGE   NEW   BUDDING   195 

group  of  orange  and  scarlet  fungi  in  a  fairy  picture. 
Do  you  know,  I  haven't  been,  no,  not  for  quite  a  long 
time.     Shall  we  call  now  ?  " 

"  The  daylight  will  be  gone  if  we  do.  It  is  half 
past  five — more!  I  saw  him — the  son — the  other 
morning." 

"  Where  ? " 

"  He  was  carting  manure — I  made  haste  by." 

"  Did  he  speak  to  you — did  you  look  at  him  ?  " 

"  No,  he  said  nothing.  I  glanced  at  him — he's 
just  the  same,  brick  colour — stolid.  Mind  that  stone 
— it  rocks.     I'm  glad  you've  got  strong  boots  on." 

"  Seeing  that  I  usually  wear  them " 

She  stood  poised  a  moment  on  a  large  stone,  the 
fresh  spring  brook  hastening  towards  her,  deepening, 
sidling  round  her. 

"  You  won't  call  and  see  them,  then  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No.  I  like  to  hear  the  brook  tinkling,  don't 
you  ?  "  he  replied. 

"  Ah,  yes — it's  full  of  music." 

"  Shall  we  go  on  ?  "  he  said,  impatient  but  submis- 
sive. 

"  I'll  catch  up  in  a  minute,"  said  I. 

I  went  in  and  found  Emily  putting  some  bread 
into  the  oven. 

"  Come  out  for  a  walk,"  said  I. 

"  Now  ?     Let  me  tell  mother — I  was  longing " 

She  ran  and  put  on  her  long  grey  coat  and  her 
red  tam-o-shanter.  As  we  went  down  the  yard, 
George  called  to  me. 

"  I'll  come  back,"  I  shouted. 

He  came  to  the  crew-yard  gate  to  see  us  off. 
When  we  came  out  onto  the  path,  we  saw  Lettie  stand- 


196       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

ing  on  the  top  bar  of  the  stile,  balancing  with  her 
hand  on  Leslie's  head.  She  saw  us,  she  saw  George, 
and  she  waved  to  us.  Leslie  was  looking  up  at  her 
anxiously.  She  waved  again,  then  we  could  hear  her 
laughing,  and  telling  him  excitedly,  to  stand  still, 
and  steady  her  while  she  turned.  She  turned 
round,  and  leaped  with  a  great  flutter,  like  a  big  bird 
launching,  down  from  the  top  of  the  stile  to  the  ground 
and  into  his  arms.  Then  we  climbed  the  steep  hill- 
side— Sunny  Bank,  that  had  once  shone  yellow  with 
wheat,  and  now  waved  black  tattered  ranks  of  thistles 
where  the  rabbits  ran.  We  passed  the  little  cottages 
in  the  hollow  scooped  out  of  the  hill,  and  gained  the 
highlands  that  look  out  over  Leicestershire  to  Charn- 
wood  on  the  left,  and  away  into  the  mountain  knob 
of  Derbyshire  straight  in  front  and  towards  the  right. 

The  upper  road  is  all  grassy,  fallen  into  long  dis- 
use. It  used  to  lead  from  the  Abbey  to  the  Hall; 
but  now  it  ends  blindly  on  the  hill-brow.  Half  way 
along  is  the  old  White  House  farm,  with  its  green 
mounting  steps  mouldering  outside.  Ladies  have 
mounted  here  and  ridden  towards  the  Vale  of  Bel- 
voir — but  now  a  labourer  holds  the  farm. 

We  came  to  the  quarries,  and  looked  in  at  the  lime- 
kilns. 

"  Let  us  go  right  into  the  wood  out  of  the  quarry/' 
said  Leslie.  "  I  have  not  been  since  I  was  a  little 
lad." 

"  It  is  trespassing,"  said  Emily. 

"  We  don't  trespass,"  he  replied  grandiloquently. 

So  we  went  along  by  the  hurrying  brook,  which 
fell  over  little  cascades  in  its  haste,  never  looking 
once  at  the  primroses  that  were  glimmering  all  along 


STRANGE    NEW   BUDDING    197 

its  banks.  We  turned  aside,  and  climbed  the  bill 
through  the  woods.  Velvety  green  sprigs  of  dog- 
mercury  were  scattered  on  the  red  soil.  We  came  to 
the  top  of  a  slope,  where  the  wood  thinned.  As  I 
talked  to  Emily  I  became  dimly  aware  of  a  whiteness 
over  the  ground.  She  exclaimed  with  surprise,  and 
I  found  that  I  was  walking,  in  the  first  shades  of 
twilight,  over  clumps  of  snowdrops.  The  hazels  were 
thin,  and  only  here  and  there  an  oak  tree  uprose.  All 
the  ground  was  white  with  snowdrops,  like  drops  of 
manna  scattered  over  the  red  earth,  on  the  grey-green 
clusters  of  leaves.  There  was  a  deep  little  dell,  sharp 
sloping  like  a  cup,  and  white  sprinkling  of  flowers 
all  the  way  down,  with  white  flowers  showing  pale 
among  the  first  inpouring  of  shadow  at  the  bottom. 
The  earth  was  red  and  warm,  pricked  with  the  dark, 
succulent  green  of  bluebell  sheaths,  and  embroidered 
with  grey-green  clusters  of  spears,  and  many  white 
flowerets.  High  above,  above  the  light  tracery  of 
hazel,  the  weird  oaks  tangled  in  the  sunset.  Below, 
in  the  first  shadows,  drooped  hosts  of  little  white 
flowers,  so  silent  and  sad ;  it  seemed  like  a  holy  com- 
munion of  pure  wild  things,  numberless,  frail,  and 
folded  meekly  in  the  evening  light.  Other  flower 
companies  are  glad;  stately  barbaric  hordes  of  blue- 
bells, merry-headed  cowslip  groups,  even  light,  tossing 
wood-anemones;  but  snowdrops  are  sad  and  myste- 
rious. We  have  lost  their  meaning.  They  do  not 
belong  to  us,  who  ravish  them.  The  girls  bent  among 
them,  touching  them  with  their  fingers,  and  sym- 
bolising the  yearning  which  I  felt.  Folded  in  the 
twilight,  these  conquered  flowerets  are  sad  like  forlorn 
little  friends  of  dryads. 


198       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  What  do  they  mean,  do  you  think  ?  "  said  Lettie 
in  a  low  voice,  as  her  white  fingers  touched  the  flow- 
ers, and  her  black  furs  fell  on  them. 

"  There  are  not  so  many  this  year,"  said  Leslie. 

"  They  remind  me  of  mistletoe,  which  is  never 
ours,  though  we  wear  it,"  said  Emily  to  me. 

"  What  do  you  think  they  say — what  do  they  make 
you  think,  Cyril  ?  "  Lettie  repeated. 

"  I  don't  know.  Emily  says  they  belong  to  some 
old  wild  lost  religion.  They  were  the  symbol  of  tears, 
perhaps,  to  some  strange  hearted  Druid  folk  before 
us." 

"  More  than  tears,"  said  Lettie.  "  More  than 
tears,  they  are  so  still.  Something  out  of  an  old 
religion,  that  we  have  lost  They  make  me  feel 
afraid." 

"What  should  you  have  to  fear?"  asked  Leslie. 

"  If  I  knew  I  shouldn't  fear,"  she  answered. 
"  Look  at  all  the  snowdrops  " — they  hung  in  dim, 
strange  flecks  among  the  dusky  leaves — "  look  at 
them — closed  up,  retreating,  powerless.  They  be- 
long to  some  knowledge  we  have  lost,  that  I  have 
lost  and  that  I  need.  I  feel  afraid.  They  seem 
like  something  in  fate.  Do  you  think,  Cyril,  we  can 
lose  things  off  the  earth — like  mastodons,  and  those 
old  monstrosities — but  things  that  matter — wis- 
dom?" 

"  It  is  against  my  creed,"  said  I. 

"  I  believe  I  have  lost  something,"  said  she. 

"  Come,"  said  Leslie,  "  don't  trouble  with  fancies. 
Come  with  me  to  the  bottom  of  this  cup,  and  see 
how  strange  it  will  be,  with  the  sky  marked  with 
branches  like  a  filigree  lid." 


STRANGE    NEW   BUDDING    199 

She  rose  and  followed  him  down  the  steep  side  of 
the  pit,  crying,  "  Ah,  you  are  treading  on  the  flow- 
ers." 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  I  am  being  very  careful." 

They  sat  down  together  on  a  fallen  tree  at  the  bot- 
tom. She  leaned  forward,  her  fingers  wandering 
white  among  the  shadowed  grey  spaces  of  leaves, 
plucking,  as  if  it  were  a  rite,  flowers  here  and  there. 
He  could  not  see  her  face. 

"  Don't  you  care  for  me?"  he  asked  softly. 

"  You  ?  " — she  sat  up  and  looked  at  him,  and 
laughed  strangely.  "  You  do  not  seem  real  to  me," 
she  replied,  in  a  strange  voice. 

For  some  time  they  sat  thus,  both  bowed  and  silent. 
Birds  "  skirred "  off  from  the  bushes,  and  Emily 
looked  up  with  a  great  start  as  a  quiet,  sardonic  voice 
said  above  us : 

"  A  dove-cot,  my  eyes  if  it  ain't !  It  struck  me  I 
'eered  a  cooin',  an'  'ere's  th'  birds.  Come  on,  sweet- 
hearts, it's  th'  wrong  place  for  billin'  an'  cooin',  in 
th'  middle  o'  these  'ere  snowdrops.  Let's  'ave  yer 
names,  come  on." 

"  Clear  off,  you  fool ! "  answered  Leslie  from  be- 
low, jumping  up  in  anger. 

We  all  four  turned  and  looked  at  the  keeper.  He 
stood  in  the  rim  of  light,  darkly ;  fine,  powerful  form, 
menacing  us.  He  did  not  move,  but  like  some 
malicious  Pan  looked  down  on  us  and  said : 

"  Very  pretty — pretty !  Two — and  two  makes 
four.  'Tis  true,  two  and  two  makes  four.  Come  on, 
come  on  out  o'  this  'ere  bridal  bed,  an'  let's  'ave  a 
look  at  yer." 

"  Can't  you  use  your  eyes,  you  fool,"  replied  Les- 


200       THE    WHITE   PEACOCK 

lie,  standing  up  and  helping  Lettie  with  her  furs. 
"  At  any  rate  you  can  see  there  are  ladies  here." 

"  Very  sorry,  Sir !  You  can't  tell  a  lady  from  a 
woman  at  this  distance  at  dusk.  Who  may  you  be, 
Sir?" 

"  Clear  out !  Come  along,  Lettie,  you  can't  stay 
here  now." 

They  climbed  into  the  light. 

"  Oh,  very  sorry,  Mr.  Tempest — when  yer  look 
down  on  a  man  he  never  looks  the  same.  I  thought 
it  was  some,  young  fools  come  here  dallyin' " 

"  Damn  you — shut  up !  "  exclaimed  Leslie — "  I 
beg  your  pardon,  Lettie.     Will  you  have  my  arm  ?  " 

They  looked  very  elegant,  the  pair  of  them.  Let- 
tie  was  wearing  a  long  coat  which  fitted  close;  she 
had  a  small  hat  whose  feathers  flushed  straight  back 
with  her  hair. 

The  keeper  looked  at  them.  Then,  smiling,  he 
went  down  the  dell  with  great  strides,  and  returned, 
saying,  "  Well,  the  lady  might  as  well  take  her 
gloves." 

She  took  them  from  him,  shrinking  to  Leslie. 
Then  she  started,  and  said : 

"  Let  me  fetch  my  flowers." 

She  ran  for  the  handful  of  snowdrops  that  ?ay 
among  the  roots  of  the  trees.     We  all  watched  her. 

"  Sorry  I  made  such  a  mistake — a  lady !  "  said 
Annable.  "  But  I've  nearly  forgot  the  sight  o'  one 
— save  the  squire's  daughters,  who  are  never  out  o' 
nights." 

"  I  should  think  you  never  have  seen  many — un- 
less— !     Have  you  ever  been  a  groom  ?  " 

"  No  groom  but  a  bridegroom,   Sir,  and  then  I 


STRANGE    NEW   BUDDING    201 

think  I'd  rather  groom  a  horse  than  a  lady,  for  I 
got  well  bit — if  you  will  excuse  me,  Sir." 

"  And  you  deserved  it — no  doubt." 

"  I  got  it — an'  I  wish  you  better  luck,  Sir.  One's 
more  a  man  here  in  th'  wood,  though,  than  in  my 
lady's  parlour,  it  strikes  me." 

"  A  lady's  parlour !  "  laughed  Leslie,  indulgent  in 
his  amusement  at  the  facetious  keeper. 

"  Oh,  yes !  *  Will  you  walk  into  my  par- 
lour  '  " 

"  You're  very  smart  for  a  keeper." 

"  Oh,  yes  Sir — I  was  once  a  lady's  man.  But  I'd 
rather  watch  th'  rabbits  an'  th'  birds;  an'  it's  easier 
breeding  brats  in  th'  Kennels  than  in  th'  town." 

"  They  are  yours,  are  they  ?  "  said  I. 

"  You  know  'em,  do  you,  Sir  ?  Aren't  they  a 
lovely  little  litter? — aren't  they  a  pretty  bag  o'  fer- 
rets?— natural  as  weasels — that's  what  I  said  they 
should  be — bred  up  like  a  bunch  o'  young  foxes,  to 
run  as  they  would." 

Emily  had  joined  Lettie,  and  they  kept  aloof  from 
the  man  they  instinctively  hated. 

"  They'll  get  nicely  trapped,  one  of  these  days," 
said  I. 

"  They're  natural — they  can  fend  for  themselves 
like  wild  beasts  do,"  he  replied,  grinning. 

"  You  are  not  doing  your  duty,  it  strikes  me," 
put  in  Leslie  sententiously. 

The  man  laughed. 

"  Duties  of  parents ! — tell  me,  I've  need  of  it.  I've 
nine — that  is  eight,  and  one  not  far  off.  She  breeds 
well,  the  ow'd  lass — one  every  two  years — nine  in 
fourteen  years — done  well,  hasn't  she  ?  " 


202       THE    WHITE   PEACOCK 

'  "  You've  done  pretty  badly,  I  think." 

"  I — why  ?  It's  natural !  When  a  man's  more 
than  nature  he's  a  devil.  Be  a  good  animal,  says  I, 
whether  it's  man  or  woman.  You,  Sir,  a  good 
natural  male  animal ;  the  lady  there — a  female  un — 
that's  proper — as  long  as  yer  enjoy  it." 

"And  what  then?" 

"  Do  as  th'  animals  do.  I  watch  my  brats — I  let 
'em  grow.  They're  beauties,  they  are — sound  as  a 
young  ash  pole,  every  one.  They  shan't  learn  to 
dirty  themselves  wi'  smirking  deviltry — not  if  I  can 
help  it.  They  can  be  like  birds,  or  weasels,  or  vipers, 
or  squirrels,  so  long  as  they  ain't  human  rot,  that's 
what  I  say." 

"  It's  one  way  of  looking  at  things,"  said 
Leslie. 

"  Ay.  Look  at  the  women  looking  at  us.  I'm 
something  between  a  bull  and  a  couple  of  worms 
stuck  together,  I  am.  See  that  spink !  "  he  raised  his 
voice  for  the  girls  to  hear.  "  Pretty,  isn't  he  ? 
What  for  ? — And  what  for  do  you  wear  a  fancy  vest 
and  twist  your  moustache,  Sir!  What  fcr,  at  the 
bottom !  Ha — tell  a  woman  not  to  come  in  a  wood 
till  she  can  look  at  natural  things — she  might  see 
something — Good  night,  Sir." 

He  marched  off  into  the  darkness. 

"  Coarse  fellow,  that,"  said  Leslie  when  he  had 
rejoined  Lettie,  "  but  he's  a  character." 

"  He  makes  you  shudder,"  she  replied.  "  But  yet 
you  are  interested  in  him.  I  believe  he  has  a  his- 
tory." 

"  He  seems  to  lack  something,"  said  Emily. 

"  I  thought  him  rather  a  fine  fellow,"  said  I. 


STRANGE    NEW   BUDDING   203 

"  Splendidly  built  fellow,  but  callous — no  soul," 
remarked  Leslie,  dismissing  the  question. 

"  No,"  assented  Emily.  "  No  soul — and  among 
the  snowdrops." 

Lettie  was  thoughtful,  and  I  smiled. 

It  was  a  beautiful  evening,  still,  with  red,  shaken 
clouds  in  the  west.  The  moon  in  heaven  was  turn- 
ing wistfully  back  to  the  east.  Dark  purple  woods 
lay  around  us,  painting  out  the  distance.  The  near, 
wild,  ruined  land  looked  sad  and  strange  under  the 
pale  afterglow.     The  turf  path  was  fine  and  springy. 

"  Let  us  run !  "  said  Lettie,  and  joining  hands  we 
raced  wildly  along,  with  a  flutter  and  a  breathless 
laughter,  till  we  were  happy  and  forgetful.  When 
we  stopped  we  exclaimed  at  once,  "  Hark !  " 

"  A  child !  "  said  Lettie. 

"  At  the  Kennels,"  said  I. 

We  hurried  forward.  From  the  house  came  the 
mad  yelling  and  yelping  of  children,  and  the  wild 
hysterical  shouting  of  a  woman. 

"Tha'  little  devil— tha' little  devil— tha'  shanna— 
that  tha'  shanna !  "  and  this  was  accompanied  by  the 
hollow  sound  of  blows,  and  a  pandemonium  of  howl- 
ing. We  rushed  in,  and  found  the  woman  in  a 
tousled  frenzy  belabouring  a  youngster  with  an  enam- 
elled pan.  The  lad  was  rolled  up  like  a  young 
hedgehog — the  woman  held  him  by  the  foot,  and  like 
a  flail  came  the  hollow  utensil  thudding  on  his  shoul- 
ders and  back.  He  lay  in  the  firelight  and  howled, 
while  scattered  in  various  groups,  with  the  leap- 
ing firelight  twinkling  over  their  tears  and  their  open 
mouths,  were  the  otheT  children,  crying  too.  The 
mother  was  in  a  state  of  hysteria ;  her  hair  streamed 


204       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

over  her  face,  and  her  eyes  were  fixed  in  a  stare 
of  overwrought  irritation.  Up  and  down  went  her 
long  arm  like  a  windmill  sail.  I  ran  and  held  it. 
When  she  could  hit  no  more,  the  woman  dropped  the 
pan  from  her  nerveless  hand,  and  staggered,  tremb- 
ling, to  the  squab.  She  looked  desperately  weary 
and  fordone — she  clasped  and  unclasped  her  hands 
continually.  Emily  hushed  the  children,  while  Let- 
tie  hushed  the  mother,  holding  her  hard,  cracked 
hands  as  she  swayed  to  and  fro.  Gradually  the 
mother  became  still,  and  sat  staring  in  front  of  her; 
then  aimlessly  she  began  to  finger  the  jewels  on  Let- 
tie's  finger. 

Emily  was  bathing  the  cheek  of  a  little  girl,  who 
lifted  up  her  voice  and  wept  loudly  when  she  saw 
the  speck  of  blood  on  the  cloth.  But  presently  she 
became  quiet  too,  and  Emily  could  empty  the  water 
from  the  late  instrument  of  castigation,  and  at  last 
light  the  lamp. 

I  found  Sam  under  the  table  in  a  little  heap.  I 
put  out  my  hand  for  him,  and  he  wriggled  away, 
like  a  lizard,  into  the  passage.  After  a  while  I  saw 
him  in  a  corner,  lying  whimpering  with  little  savage 
cries  of  pain.  I  cut  off  his  retreat  and  captured  him, 
bearing  him  struggling  into  the  kitchen.  Then, 
weary  with  pain,  he  became  passive. 

We  undressed  him,  and  found  his  beautiful  white 
body  all  discoloured  with  bruises.  The  mother  be- 
gan to  sob  again,  with  a  chorus  of  babies.  The  girls 
tried  to  soothe  the  weeping,  while  I  rubbed  butter 
into  the  silent,  wincing  boy.  Then  his  mother  caught 
him  in  her  arms,  and  kissed  him  passionately,  and 
cried  with  abandon.    The  boy  let  himself  be  kissed — 


STRANGE    NEW   BUDDING    205 

then  he  too  began  to  sob,  till  his  little  body  was  all 
shaken.  They  folded  themselves  together,  the  poor 
dishevelled  mother  and  the  half-naked  boy,  and  wept 
themselves  still.  Then  she  took  him  to  bed,  and  the 
girls  helped  the  other  little  ones  into  their  night- 
gowns, and  soon  the  house  was  still. 

"  I  canna  manage  'em,  I  canna,"  said  the  mother 
mournfully.  "  They  growin'  beyont  me — I  dunna 
know  what  to  do  wi'  'em.  An'  niver  a'  'and  does  'e 
lift  ter  'elp  me — no — 'e  cares  not  a  thing  for  me — 
not  a  thing — nowt  but  makes  a  mock  an'  a  sludge  o* 
me." 

"  Ah,  baby !  "  said  Lettie,  setting  the  bonny  boy 
on  his  feet,  and  holding  up  his  trailing  nightgown 
behind  him,  "  do  you  want  to  walk  to  your  mother — 
go  then— Ah  !  " 

The  child,  a  handsome  little  fellow  of  some  six- 
teen months,  toddled  across  to  his  mother,  waving 
his  hands  as  he  went,  and  laughing,  while  his  large 
hazel  eyes  glowed  with  pleasure.  His  mother  caught 
him,  pushed  the  silken  brown  hair  back  from  his 
forehead,  and  laid  his  cheek  against  hers. 

"  Ah !  "  she  said,  "  Tha's  got  a  funny  Dad,  tha' 
has,  not  like  another  man,  no,  my  duckie.  'E's  got 
no  'art  ter  care  for  nobody,  'e  'asna,  ma  pigeon — 
no, — lives  like  a  stranger  to  his  own  flesh  an'  blood." 

The  girl  with  the  wounded  cheek  had  found  com- 
fort in  Leslie.  She  was  seated  on  his  knee,  looking 
at  him  with  solemn  blue  eyes,  her  solemnity  increased 
by  the  quaint  round  head,  whose  black  hair  was  cut 
short. 

"  'S  my  chalk,  yes  it  is,  'n  our  Sam  says  as  it's 
'issen,  an'  'e  ta'es  it  and  marks  it  all  gone,  so  I 


206       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

wouldna  gie  't  'im," — she  clutched  in  her  fat  little 
hand  a  piece  of  red  chalk.  "  My  Dad  gen  it  me,  ter 
mark  my  dolly's  face  red,  what's  on'y  wood — I'll 
show  yer." 

She  wriggled  down,  and  holding  up  her  trailing 
gown  with  one  hand,  trotted  to  a  corner  piled  with 
a  child's  rubbish,  and  hauled  out  a  hideous  carven 
caricature  of  a  woman,  and  brought  it  to  Leslie.  The 
face  of  the  object  was  streaked  with  red. 

"  'Ere  sh'  is,  my  dolly,  what  my  Dad  make  me — 
'er  name's  Lady  Mima." 

"  Is  it  ? "  said  Lettie,  "  and  are  these  her  cheeks  ? 
She's  not  pretty,  is  she  I " 

"  Um — sh'  is.     My  Dad  says  sh'  is — like  a  lady." 

"  And  he  gave  you  her  rouge,  did  he  ?  " 

"  Kouge !  "  she  nodded. 

"  And  you  wouldn't  let  Sam  have  it  ? " 

"  No — an'  mi  mower  says,  '  Dun  gie  't  'im ' — 'n 
'e  bite  ma" 

"  What  will  your  father  say  *  " 

"  Me  Dad  ?  " 

"  'E'd  nobbut  laugh,"  put  in  the  mother,  "  an  say 
as  a  bite's  bett'r'n  a  kiss." 

"  Brute !  "  said  Leslie  feelingly. 

"  No,  but  'e  never  laid  a  finger  on  'em — nor  me 
neither.  But  'e  's  not  like  another  man — niver  tells 
yer  nowt.  He's  more  a  stranger  to  me  this  day  than 
'e  wor  th'  day  I  first  set  eyes  on  'im." 

"  Where  was  that  ?  "  asked  Lettie. 

"  When  I  wor  a  lass  at  th'  'All — an'  'im  a  new 
man  come — fair  a  gentleman,  an'  a,  an'  a !  An  even 
now  can  read  an'  talk  like  a  gentleman — but  'e  tells 
me  nothing — Oh  no — what  am  I  in  'is  eyes  but  a 


STRANGE    NEW   BUDDING   207 

sludge  bump  ? — 'e  's  above  me,  'e  is,  an'  above  'is  own 
childer.  God  a-mercy,  'e  '11  be  in  in  a  minute. 
Come  on  'ere !  " 

She  hustled  the  children  to  bed,  swept  the  litter 
into  a  corner,  and  began  to  lay  the  table.  The  cloth 
was  spotless,  and  she  put  him  a  silver  spoon  in  the 
saucer. 

We  had  only  just  got  out  of  the  house  when  he 
drew  near.  I  saw  his  massive  figure  in  the  door- 
way, and  the  big,  prolific  woman  moved  subserviently 
about  the  room. 

"  Hullo,  Proserpine — had  visitors  ?  " 

"  I  never  axed  'em — they  come  in  'earin'  th'  chil- 
der cryin'.    I  never  encouraged  'em " 

We  hurried  away  into  the  night. 

"  Ah,  it's  always  the  woman  bears  the  burden," 
said  Lettie  bitterly. 

"  If  he'd  helped  her — wouldn't  she  have  been  a 
fine  woman  now — splendid  ?  But  she's  dragged  to 
bits.  Men  are  brutes — and  marriage  just  gives  scope 
to  them,"  said  Emily. 

"  Oh,  you  wouldn't  take  that  as  a  fair  sample  of 
marriage,"  replied  Leslie.  "  Think  of  you  and  me, 
Minnehaha." 

"Ay." 

"  Oh — I  meant  to  tell  you — what  do  you  think  of 
Greymede  old  vicarage  for  us  ? " 

"  It's  a  lovely  old  place !  "  exclaimed  Lettie,  and 
we  passed  out  of  hearing. 

We  stumbled  over  the  rough  path.  The  moon  was 
bright,  and  we  stepped  apprehensively  on  the  shad- 
ows thrown  from  the  trees,  for  they  lay  so  black  and 
substantial.     Occasionally  a  moonbeam  would  trace 


208       THE    WHITE   PEACOCK 

out  a  suave  white  branch  that  the  rabbits  had 
gnawed  quite  bare  in  the  hard  winter.  We  came  out 
of  the  woods  into  the  full  heavens.  The  northern  sky 
was  full  of  a  gush  of  green  light;  in  front,  eclipsed 
Orion  leaned  over  his  bed,  and  the  moon  followed. 

"  When  the  northern  lights  are  up,"  said  Emily, 
"  I  feel  so  strange — half  eerie — they  do  fill  you  with 
awe,  don't  they  I " 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  they  make  you  wonder,  and  look, 
and  expect  something." 

"  What  do  you  expect  ? "  she  said  softly,  and 
looked  up,  and  saw  me  smiling,  and  she  looked  down 
again,  biting  her  lips. 

When  we  came  to  the  parting  of  the  roads,  Emily 
begged  them  just  to  step  into  the  mill — just  for  a 
moment — and  Lettie  consented. 

The  kitchen  window  was  uncurtained,  and  the 
blind,  as  usual,  was  not  drawn.  We  peeped  in 
through  the  cords  of  budding  honeysuckle.  George 
and  Alice  were  sitting  at  the  table  playing  chess; 
the  mother  was  mending  a  coat,  and  the  father,  as 
usual,  was  reading.  Alice  was  talking  quietly,  and 
George  was  bent  on  the  game.  His  arms  lay  on  the 
table. 

We  made  a  noise  at  the  door,  and  entered.  George 
rose  heavily,  shook  hands,  and  sat  down  again. 

"  Hullo,  Lettie  Beardsall,  you  are  a  stranger," 
said  Alice.    "  Are  you  so  much  engaged  ?  " 

"  Ay — we  don't  see  much  of  her  nowadays,"  added 
the  father  in  his  jovial  way. 

"  And  isn't  she  a  toff,  in  her  fine  hat  and  furs  and 
snowdrops.  Look  at  her,  George,  you've  never 
looked  to  see  what  a  toff  she  is." 


STRANGE    NEW   BUDDING   209 

He  raised  his  eyes,  and  looked  at  her  apparel  and 
at  her  flowers,  but  not  at  her  face : 

"  Ay,  she  is  fine,"  he  said,  and  returned  to  the 
chess. 

"  We  have  been  gathering  snowdrops,"  said  Let- 
tie,  fingering  the  flowers  in  her  bosom. 

"  They  are  pretty — give  me  some,  will  you  ?  "  said 
Alice,  holding  out  her  hand.  Lettie  gave  her  the 
flowers. 

"  Check !  "  said  George  deliberately. 

"  Get  out !  "  replied  his  opponent,  "  I've  got  some 
snowdrops — don't  they  suit  me,  an  innocent  little 
soul  like  me?  Lettie  won't  wear  them — she's  not 
meek  and  mild  and  innocent  like  me.  Do  you  want 
some  ? " 

"  If  you  like— what  for  ?  " 

"  To  make  you  pretty,  of  course,  and  to  show  you 
an  innocent  little  meekling." 

"  You're  in  check,"  he  said. 

"  Where  can  you  wear  them  ? — there's  only  your 
shirt.  Aw ! — there !  " — she  stuck  a  few  flowers  in 
his  ruffled  black  hair — "  Look,  Lettie,  isn't  he 
sweet?" 

Lettie  laughed  with  a  strained  little  laugh: 

"  He's  like  Bottom  and  the  ass's  head,"  she  said. 

"  Then  I'm  Titania — don't  I  make  a  lovely  fairy 
queen,  Bully  Bottom? — and  who's  jealous  Oberon? " 

"  He  reminds  me  of  that  man  in  Hedda  Gabler — 
crowned  with  vine  leaves — oh,  yes,  vine  leaves,"  said 
Emily. 

"  How's  your  mare's  sprain,  Mr.  Tempest  ? " 
George  asked,  taking  no  notice  of  the  flowers  in  his 
hair. 


210       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

"  Oh — she'll  soon  be  all  right,  thanks." 

"  Ah — George  told  me  about  it,"  put  in  the  father, 
and  he  held  Leslie  in  conversation. 

"  Am  I  in  check,  George  8  "  said  Alice,  returning 
to  the  game.     She  knitted  her  brows  and  cogitated: 

"  Pooh !  "  she  said,  "  that's  soon  remedied !  " — 
she  moved  her  piece,  and  said  triumphantly,  "  Now, 
Sir !  " 

He  surveyed  the  game,  and,  with  deliberation 
moved.  Alice  pounced  on  him;  with  a  leap  of  her 
knight  she  called  "  check !  " 

"  I  didn't  see  it — you  may  have  the  game  now," 
he  said. 

"  Beaten,  my  boy ! — don't  crow  over  a  woman  any 
more.     Stale-mate — with  flowers  in  your  hair !  " 

He  put  his  hand  to  his  head,  and  felt  among  his 
hair,  and  threw  the  flowers  on  the  table. 

"  Would  you  believe  it !  "  said  the  mother, 

coming  into  the  room  from  the  dairy. 

"What?"  we  all  asked. 

"  Nickie  Ben's  been  and  eaten  the  sile  cloth.  Yes ! 
When  I  went  to  wash  it,  there  sat  Mckie  Ben  gulp- 
ing, and  wiping  the  froth  off  his  whiskers." 

George  laughed  loudly  and  heartily.  He  laughed 
till  he  was  tired.  Lettie  looked  and  wondered  when 
he  would  be  done. 

"  I  imagined,"  he  gasped,  "  how  he'd  feel  with 
half  a  yard  of  muslin  creeping  down  his  throttle." 

This  laughter  was  most  incongruous.  He  went  off 
into  another  burst.  Alice  laughed  too — it  was  easy 
to  infect  her  with  laughter.  Then  the  father  began 
— and  in  walked  Mckie  Ben,  stepping  disconsolately 
— we  all  roared  again,  till  the  rafters  shook.     Only 


STRANGE   NEW   BUDDING   211 

Lettie  looked  impatiently  for  the  end.  George  swept 
his  bare  arms  across  the  table,  and  the  scattered  little 
flowers  fell  broken  to  the  ground. 

"  Oh — what  a  shame !  "  exclaimed  Lettie. 

"  What  ?  "  said  he,  looking  round.  "  Your  flow- 
ers? Do  you  feel  sorry  for  them? — you're  too  ten- 
der hearted ;  isn't  she,  Cyril  ?  " 

"  Always  was — for  dumb  animals,  and  things," 
said  I. 

"  Don't  you  wish  you  was  a  little  dumb  animal, 
Georgie  ?  "  said  Alice. 

He  smiled,  putting  away  the  chess-men. 

"  Shall  we  go,  dear  ?  "  said  Lettie  to  Leslie. 

"  If  you  are  ready,"  he  replied,  rising  with  alac- 
rity. 

"  I  am  tired,"  she  said  plaintively. 

He  attended  to  her  with  little  tender  solicitations. 

"  Have  we  walked  too  far  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  it's  not  that.  No — it's  the  snowdrops,  and 
the  man,  and  the  children — and  everything.  I  feel 
just  a  bit  exhausted." 

She  kissed  Alice,  and  Emily,  and  the  mother. 

"  Good-night,  Alice,"  she  said.  "  It's  not  alto- 
gether my  fault  we're  strangers.  You  know — really 
— I'm  just  the  same — really.  Only  you  imagine, 
and  then  what  can  I  do  ?  " 

She  said  farewell  to  George,  and  looked  at  him 
through  a  quiver  of  suppressed  tears. 

George  was  somewhat  flushed  with  triumph  over 
Lettie:  She  had  gone  home  with  tears  shaken  from 
her  eyes  unknown  to  her  lover ;  at  the  farm  George 
laughed  with  Alice. 

We  escorted  Alice  home  to  Eberwich — "  Like  a 


212       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

blooming  little  monkey  dangling  from  two  boughs," 
as  she  put  it,  when  we  swung  her  along  on  our  arms. 
We  laughed  and  said  many  preposterous  things. 
George  wanted  to  kiss  her  at  parting,  but  she  tipped 
him  under  the  chin  and  said,  "  Sweet !  "  as  one  does 
to  a  canary.  Then  she  laughed  with  her  tongue  be- 
tween her  teeth,  and  ran  indoors. 

"  She  is  a  little  devil,"  said  he. 

We  took  the  long  way  home  by  Greymede,  and 
passed  the  dark  schools. 

"  Come  on,"  said  he,  "  let's  go  in  the  '  Kam  Inn/ 
and  have  a  look  at  my  cousin  Meg." 

It  was  half  past  ten  when  he  marched  me  across 
the  road  and  into  the  sanded  passage  of  the  little  inn. 
The  place  had  been  an  important  farm  in  the  days  of 
George's  grand-uncle,  but  since  his  decease  it  had 
declined,  under  the  governance  of  the  widow  and  a 
man-of-all-work.  The  old  grand-aunt  was  propped 
and  supported  by  a  splendid  grand-daughter.  The 
near  kin  of  Meg  were  all  in  California,  so  she,  a 
bonny  delightful  girl  of  twenty-four,  stayed  near  her 
grand-ma. 

As  we  tramped  grittily  down  the  passage,  the  red 
head  of  Bill  poked  out  of  the  bar,  and  he  said  as  he 
recognised  George: 

"  Good-ev'nin' — go  forward — 'er's  non  abed  yit." 

We  went  forward,  and  unlatched  the  kitchen  door. 
The  great-aunt  was  seated  in  her  little,  round-backed 
armchair,  sipping  her  "  night-cap." 

"  Well,  George,  my  lad !  "  she  cried,  in  her  queru- 
lous voice.  "  Tha'  niver  says  it's  thai,  does  ter  ? 
That's  com'n  for  summat,  for  sure,  else  what  brings 
thee  ter  see  me  ?  " 


STRANGE   NEW   BUDDING   213 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  Ah'n  com  ter  see  thee,  nowt 
else.    Wheer's  Meg  ?  " 

"  Ah ! — Ha — Ha — Ah ! — Me,  did  ter  say  ? — come 
ter  see  me? — Ha — wheer's  Meg! — an'  who's  this 
young  gentleman  ?  " 

I  was  formally  introduced,  and  shook  the  clammy 
corded  hand  of  the  old  lady. 

"  Tha'  looks  delikit,"  she  observed,  shaking  her 
cap  and  its  scarlet  geraniums  sadly :  "  Cum  now,  sit 
thee  down,  an'  dunna  look  so  long  o'  th'  leg." 

I  sat  down  on  the  sofa,  on  the  cushions  covered 
with  blue  and  red  checks.  The  room  was  very  hot, 
and  I  stared  about  uncomfortably.  The  old  lady  sat 
peering  at  nothing,  in  reverie.  She  was  a  hard-vis- 
aged,  bosomless  dame,  clad  in  thick  black  cloth-like 
armour,  and  wearing  an  immense  twisted  gold  brooch 
in  the  lace  at  her  neck. 

We  heard  heavy,  quick  footsteps  above. 

"  Er's  commin',"  remarked  the  old  lady,  rousing 
from  her  apathy.  The  footsteps  came  down-stairs 
— quickly,  then  cautiously  round  the  bend.  Meg  ap- 
peared in  the  doorway.  She  started  with  surprise, 
saying: 

"  Well,  I  'eered  sumbody,  but  I  never  thought  it 
was  you."  More  colour  still  flamed  into  her  glossy 
cheeks,  and  she  smiled  in  her  fresh,  frank  way.  I 
think  I  have  never  seen  a  woman  who  had  more 
physical  charm ;  there  was  a  voluptuous  fascination 
in  her  every  outline  and  movement;  one  never  list- 
ened to  the  words  that  came  from  her  lips,  one 
watched  the  ripe  motion  of  those  red  fruits. 

"  Get  'em  a  drop  o'  whiskey,  Meg — you'll  Ve  a 
drop?" 


214       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

I  declined  firmly,  but  did  not  escape. 

"  Nay,"  declared  the  old  dame.  "  I  s'll  ha'e  none 
o'  thy  no's.  Should  ter  like  it  'ot? — Say  th'  word, 
an'  tha'  'as  it." 

I  did  not  say  the  word. 

"  Then  gi'e  'im  claret,"  pronounced  my  hostess, 
"  though  it's  thin-bellied  stuff  ter  to  ter  bed  on  " — • 
and  claret  it  was. 

Meg  went  out  again  to  see  about  closing.  The 
grand-aunt  sighed,  and  sighed  again,  for  no  per- 
ceptible reason  but  the  whiskey. 

"  It's  well  you've  come  ter  see  me  now,"  she 
moaned,  "  for  you'll  none  'a'e  a  chance  next  time 

you  come'n; — No — I'm  all  gone  but  my  cap " 

She  shook  that  geraniumed  erection,  and  I  wondered 
what  sardonic  fate  left  it  behind. 

"  An'  I'm  forced  ter  say  it,  I  s'll  be  thankful  to 
be  gone,"  she  added,  after  a  few  sighs. 

This  weariness  of  the  flesh  was  touching.  The 
cruel  truth  is,  however,  that  the  old  lady  clung  to 
life  like  a  louse  to  a  pig's  back.  Dying,  she  faintly, 
but  emphatically  declared  herself,  "  a  bit  better — a 
bit  better.     I  s'll  be  up  to-morrow." 

"  I  should  a  gone  before  now,"  she  continued, 
"  but  for  that  blessed  wench — I  canna  abear  to  think 
o'  leavin  'er — come  drink  up,  my  lad,  drink  up — 
nay,  tha'  'rt  nobbut  young  yet,  that'  'rt  none  topped 
up  wi'  a  thimbleful." 

I  took  whiskey  in  preference  to  the  acrid  stuff. 

"  Ay,"  resumed  the  grand-aunt.  "  I  carina  go  in 
peace  till  'er's  settled — an'  'er's  that  tickle  o'  choosin'. 
Th'  right  sort  'asn't  th'  gumption  ter  ax'  er." 

She  sniffed,  and  turned  scornfully  to  her  glass. 


STRANGE   NEW   BUDDING   215 

George  grinned  and  looked  conscious;  as  he  swal- 
lowed a  gulp  of  whiskey  it  crackled  in  his  throat. 
The  sound  annoyed  the  old  lady. 

"  Tha'  might  be  scar'd  at  summat,"  she  said. 
"  Tha'  niver  'ad  six  drops  o'  spunk  in  thee." 

She  turned  again  with  a  sniff  to  her  glass.  He 
frowned  with  irritation,  half  filled  his  glass  with 
liquor,  and  drank  again. 

"  I  dare  bet  as  tha'  niver  kissed  a  wench  in  thy 
life — not  proper  " — and  she  tossed  the  last  drops  of 
her  toddy  down  her  skinny  throat. 

Here  Meg  came  along  the  passage. 

"  Come,  gran'ma,"  she  said.  "  I'm  sure  it's  time 
as  you  was  in  bed — come  on." 

"Sit  thee  down  an'  drink  a  drop  wi's — it's  not 
ivry  night  as  we  'a'e  cumpny." 

"  No,  let  me  take  you  to  bed — I'm  sure  you  must 
be  ready." 

"  Sit  thee  down  'ere,  I  say,  an'  get  thee  a  drop  o' 
port.     Come — no  argy-bargyin'." 

Meg  fetched  more  glasses  and  a  decanter.  I  made 
a  place  for  her  between  me  and  George.  We  all  had 
port  wine.  Meg,  naive  and  unconscious,  waited  on 
us  deliciously.  Her  cheeks  gleamed  like  satin  when 
she  laughed,  save  when  the  dimples  held  the  shadow. 
Her  suave,  tawny  neck  was  bare  and  bewitching. 
She  turned  suddenly  to  George  as  he  asked  her  a 
question,  and  they  found  their  faces  close  together. 
He  kissed  her,  and  when  she  started  back,  jumped 
and  kissed  her  neck  with  warmth. 

"  La — la — dy — da — la — dy — da — dy — da,"  cried 
the  old  woman  in  delight,  and  she  clutched  her  wine- 
glass. 


216       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

"  Come  on — chink !  "  she  cried,  "  all  together — 
chink  to  him !  " 

We  four  chinked  and  drank.  George  poured  wine 
in  a  tumbler,  and  drank  it  off.  He  was  getting  ex- 
cited, and  all  the  energy  and  passion  that  normally 
were  bound  down  by  his  caution  and  self -instinct 
began  to  flame  out. 

"  Here,  aunt ! "  said  he,  lifting  his  tumbler, 
"  here's  to  what  you  want — you  know  I  " 

"  I  knowed  tha'  wor  as  spunky  as  ony  on'em," 
she  cried.  "  Tha'  nobbut  wanted  warmin'  up.  I'll 
see  as  you're  all  right.  It's  a  bargain.  Chink  again, 
ivrybody." 

"  A  bargain,"  said  he  before  he  put  his  lips  to 
the  glass. 

"  What  bargain's  that?  "  said  Meg. 

The  old  lady  laughed  loudly  and  winked  at  George, 
who,  with  his  lips  wet  with  wine,  got  up  and  kissed 
Meg  soundly,  saying: 

"  There  it  is — that  seals  it." 

Meg  wiped  her  face  with  her  big  pinafore,  and 
seemed  uncomfortable. 

"  Aren't  you  comin',  gran'ma  \  "  she  pleaded. 

"  Eh,  tha'  wants  ter  'orry  me  off — what's  thai 
say,  George — a  deep  un,  isna  'er  ?  " 

"  Dunna  go,  Aunt,  dunna  be  hustled  off." 

"  Tush— Pish,"  snorted  the  old  lady.  "  Yah,  tha' 
'rt  a  slow  un,  an'  no  mistakes !  Get  a  candle,  Meg, 
I'm  ready." 

Meg  brought  a  brass  bed-room  candlestick.  Bill 
brought  in  the  money  in  a  tin  box,  and  delivered  it 
into  the  hands  of  the  old  lady. 

"  Go  thy  ways  to  bed  now,  lad,"  said  she  to  the 


STRANGE    NEW   BUDDING   217 

ugly,  wizened  serving-man.  He  sat  in  a  corner  and 
pulled  off  his  boots. 

"  Come  an'  kiss  me  good-night,  George,"  said  the 
old  woman — and  as  he  did  so  she  whispered  in  his 
ear,  whereat  he  laughed  loudly.  She  poured  whiskey 
into  her  glass  and  called  to  the  serving-man  to  drink 
it.  Then,  pulling  herself  up  heavily,  she  leaned  on 
Meg  and  went  upstairs.  She  had  been  a  big  woman, 
one  could  see,  but  now  her  shapeless,  broken  figure 
looked  pitiful  beside  Meg's  luxuriant  form.  We 
heard  them  slowly,  laboriously  climb  the  stairs. 
George  sat  pulling  his  moustache  and  half -smiling ; 
his  eyes  were  alight  with  that  peculiar  childish  look 
they  had  when  he  was  experiencing  new  and  doubt- 
ful sensations.  Then  he  poured  himself  more  whiskey. 

"  I  say,  steady !  "  I  admonished. 

"  What  for  I "  he  replied,  indulging  himself  like 
a  spoiled  child  and  laughing. 

Bill,  who  had  sat  for  some  time  looking  at  the 
hole  in  his  stocking,  drained  his  glass,  and  with  a 
sad  "  Good-night,"  creaked  off  upstairs. 

Presently  Meg  came  down,  and  I  rose  and  said 
we  must  be  going. 

"  I'll  just  come  an'  lock  the  door  after  you,"  said 
she,  standing  uneasily  waiting. 

George  got  up.  He  gripped  the  edge  of  the  table 
to  steady  himself ;  then  he  got  his  balance,  and,  with 
his  eyes  on  Meg,  said : 

"  'Ere !  "  he  nodded  his  head  to  her.  "  Come  here, 
I  want  ter  ax  thee  sumwhat." 

She  looked  at  him,  half -smiling,  half  doubtful. 
He  put  his  arm  round  her  and  looking  down  into  her 
eyes,  with  his  face  very  close  to  hers,  said : 


218       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

"  Let's  ha'e  a  kiss." 

Quite  unresisting  she  yielded  him  her  mouth,  look- 
ing at  him  intently  with  her  bright  brown  eyes.  He 
kissed  her,  and  pressed  her  closely  to  him. 

"  I'm  going  to  marry  thee,"  he  said. 

"  Go  on !  "  she  replied,  softly,  half  glad,  half 
doubtful. 

"I  am  an'  all,"  he  repeated,  pressing  her  more 
tightly  to  him. 

I  went  down  the  passage,  and  stood  in  the  open 
doorway  looking  out  into  the  night.  It  seemed  a 
long  time.  Then  I  heard  the  thin  voice  of  the  old 
woman  at  the  top  of  the  stairs: 

"  Meg !  Meg !     Send  'im  off  now.     Come  on !  " 

In  the  silence  that  followed  there  was  a  murmur 
of  voices,  and  then  they  came  into  the  passage. 

"  Good-night,  my  lad,  good  luck  to  thee !  "  cried 
the  voice  like  a  ghoul  from  upper  regions. 

He  kissed  his  betrothed  a  rather  hurried  good- 
night at  the  door. 

"  Good-night,"  she  replied,  softly,  watching  him 
retreat.  Then  we  heard  her  shoot  the  heavy 
bolts. 

"  You  know,"  he  began,  and  he  tried  to  clear  his 
throat.  His  voice  was  husky  and  strangulated  with 
excitement.     He  tried  again: 

"  You  know — she — she's  a  clinker." 

I  did  not  reply,  but  he  took  no  notice. 

"Damn!  "  he  ejaculated.  "What  did  I  let  her 
go  for!" 

We  walked  along  in  silence — his  excitement  abated 
somewhat. 

"  It's  the  way  she  swings  her  body — an'  the  curves 


STRANGE   NEW   BUDDING   £19 

as  she  stands.  It's  when  you  look  at  her — you  feel 
— you  know." 

I  suppose  I  knew,  but  it  was  unnecessary  to  say 
so. 

"  You  know — if  ever  I  dream  in  the  night — of 
women — you  know — it's  always  Meg;  she  seems  to 
look  so  soft ,  and  to  curve  her  body " 

Gradually  his  feet  began  to  drag.  When  we  came 
to  the  place  where  the  colliery  railway  crossed  the 
road,  he  stumbled,  and  pitched  forward,  only  just 
recovering  himself.     I  took  hold  of  his  arm. 

"  Good  Lord,  Cyril,  am  I  drunk  ? "  he  said. 

"Not  quite,"  said  I. 

"  No,"  he  muttered,  "  couldn't  be." 

But  his  feet  dragged  again,  and  he  began  to  stag- 
ger from  side  to  side.  I  took  hold  of  his  arm.  He 
murmured  angrily — then,  subsiding  again,  muttered, 
with  slovenly  articulation: 

"  I — I  feel  fit  to  drop  with  sleep." 

Along  the  dead,  silent  roadway,  and  through  the 
uneven  blackness  of  the  wood,  we  lurched  and 
stumbled.  He  was  very  heavy  and  difficult  to  di- 
rect. When  at  last  we  came  to  the  brook  we  splashed 
straight  through  the  water.  I  urged  him  to  walk 
steadily  and  quietly  across  the  yard.  He  did  his 
best,  and  we  made  a  fairly  still  entry  into  the  farm. 
He  dropped  with  all  his  weight  on  the  sofa,  and, 
leaning  down,  began  to  unfasten  his  leggings.  In 
the  midst  of  his  fumblings  he  fell  asleep,  and  I  was 
afraid  he  would  pitch  forward  on  to  his  head.  I 
took  off  his  leggings  and  his  wet  boots  and  his 
collar.  Then,  as  I  was  pushing  and  shaking  him 
awake  to  get  off  his  coat,  I  heard  a  creaking  on  the 


220       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

stairs,  and  my  heart  sank,  for  I  thought  it  was 
his  mother.  But  it  was  Emily,  in  her  long  white 
nightgown.  She  looked  at  us  with  great  dark 
eyes  of  terror,  and  whispered:  "What's  the  mat- 
ter?" 

I  shook  my  head  and  looked  at  him.  His  head 
had  dropped  down  on  his  chest  again. 

"  Is  he  hurt  ?  "  she  asked,  her  voice  becoming  aud- 
ible, and  dangerous.  He  lifted  his  head,  and  looked 
at  her  with  heavy,  angry  eyes. 

"  George !  "  she  said  sharply,  in  bewilderment  and 
fear.     His  eyes  seemed  to  contract  evilly. 

"  Is  he  drunk  ? "  she  whispered,  shrinking  away, 
and  looking  at  me.  "  Have  you  made  him  drunk — 
you?" 

I  nodded.    I  too  was  angry. 

"  Oh,  if  mother  gets  up !  I  must  get  him  to  bed  1 
Oh,  how  could  you !  " 

This  sibilant  whispering  irritated  him,  and  me.  I 
tugged  at  his  coat.  He  snarled  incoherently,  and 
swore.  She  caught  her  breath.  He  looked  at  her 
sharply,  and  I  was  afraid  he  would  wake  himself 
into  a  rage. 

"  Go  upstairs !  "  I  whispered  to  her.  She  shook 
her  head.  I  could  see  him  taking  heavy  breaths,  and 
the  veins  of  his  neck  were  swelling.  I  was  furious 
at  her  disobedience. 

"  Go  at  once,"  I  said  fiercely,  and  she  went,  still 
hesitating  and  looking  back. 

I  had  hauled  off  his  coat  and  waistcoat,  so  I  let 
him  sink  again  into  stupidity  while  I  took  off  my 
boots.  Then  I  got  him  to  his  feet,  and,  walking  be- 
hind him,  impelled  him  slowly  upstairs.     I  lit  a 


STRANGE    NEW   BUDDING   221 

candle  in  his  bedroom.  There  was  jio  sound  from 
the  other  rooms.  So  I  undressed  him,  and  got  him 
in  bed  at  last,  somehow.  I  covered  him  up  and  put 
over  him  the  calf-skin  rug,  because  the  night  was 
cold.  Almost  immediately  he  began  to  breathe  heav- 
ily. I  dragged  him  over  to  his  side,  and  pillowed 
his  head  comfortably.  He  looked  like  a  tired  boy, 
asleep. 

I  stood  still,  now  I  felt  myself  alone,  and  looked 
round.  Up  to  the  low  roof  rose  the  carven  pillars 
of  dark  mahogany ;  there  was  a  chair  by  the  bed,  and 
a  little  yellow  chest  of  drawers  by  the  windows,  that 
was  all  the  furniture,  save  the  calf-skin  rug  on  the 
floor.  In  the  drawers  I  noticed  a  book.  It  was  a 
copy  of  Omar  Khayyam,  that  Lettie  had  given  him 
in  her  Khayyam  days,  a  little  shilling  book  with  col- 
oured illustrations. 

I  blew  out  the  candle,  when  I  had  looked  at  him 
again.  As  I  crept  on  to  the  landing,  Emily  peeped 
from  her  room,  whispering,  "  Is  he  in  bed  ?  " 

I  nodded,  and  whispered  good-night.  Then  I  went 
home,  heavily. 

After  the  evening  at  the  farm,  Lettie  and  Leslie 
drew  closer  together.  They  eddied  unevenly  down 
the  little  stream  of  courtship,  jostling  and  drifting 
together  and  apart.  He  was  unsatisfied  and  strove 
with  every  effort  to  bring  her  close  to  him,  sub- 
missive. Gradually  she  yielded,  and  submitted  to 
him.  She  folded  round  her  and  him  the  snug  cur- 
tain of  the  present,  and  they  sat  like  children  play- 
ing a  game  behind  the  hangings  of  an  old  bed.  She 
shut  out  all  distant  outlooks,  as  an  Arab  unfolds  his 
tent  and  conquers  the  mystery  and  space  of  the  des- 


222      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

ert.     So  she  lived  gleefully  in  a  little  tent  of  pres- 
ent pleasures  and  fancies. 

Occasionally,  only  occasionally,  she  would  peep 
from  her  tent  into  the  out  space.  Then  she  sat  por- 
ing over  books,  and  nothing  would  be  able  to  draw 
her  away ;  or  she  sat  in  her  room  looking  out  of  the 
window  for  hours  together.  She  pleaded  headaches ; 
mother  said  liver;  he,  angry  like  a  spoilt  child  de- 
nied his  wish,  declared  it  moodiness  and  perversity. 


CHAPTEK   II 


A    SHADOW    IN    SPRING 


With  spring  came  trouble.  The  Saxtons  declared 
they  were  being  bitten  off  the  estate  by  rabbits.  Sud- 
denly, in  a  fit  of  despair,  the  father  bought  a  gun. 
Although  he  knew  that  the  Squire  would  not  for  one 
moment  tolerate  the  shooting  of  that  manna,  the  rab- 
bits, yet  he  was  out  in  the  first  cold  morning  twilight 
banging  away.  At  first  he  but  scared  the  brutes,  and 
brought  Annable  on  the  scene;  then,  blooded  by  the 
use  of  the  weapon,  he  played  havoc  among  the  furry 
beasts,  bringing  home  some  eight  or  nine  couples. 

George  entirely  approved  of  this  measure;  it  re- 
joiced him  even ;  yet  he  had  never  had  the  initiative 
to  begin  the  like  himself,  or  even  to  urge  his  father 
to  it.  He  prophesied  trouble,  and  possible  loss  of 
the  farm.  It  disturbed  him  somewhat,  to  think  they 
must  look  out  for  another  place,  but  he  postponed 
the  thought  of  the  evil  day  till  the  time  should  be 
upon  him. 

A  vendetta  was  established  between  the  Mill  and 
the  keeper,  Annable.  The  latter  cherished  his  rab- 
bits: 

"  Call  'em  vermin !  "  he  said.  "  I  only  know  one 
sort  of  vermin — and  that's  the  talkin  sort."  So  he 
set  himself  to  thwart  and  harass  the  rabbit  slayers. 

It  was  about  this  time  I  cultivated  the  acquaint- 

223 


224      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

ance  of  the  keeper.  All  the  world  hated  him — to  the 
people  in  the  villages  he  was  like  a  devil  of  the  woods. 
Some  miners  had  sworn  vengeance  on  him  for  hav- 
ing caused  their  commital  to  gaol.  But  he  had  a 
great  attraction  for  me;  his  magnificent  physique, 
his  great  vigour  and  vitality,  and  his  swarthy,  gloomy 
face  drew  me. 

He  was  a  man  of  one  idea: — that  all  civilisation 
was  the  painted  fungus  of  rottenness.  He  hated  any 
sign  of  culture.  I  won  his  respect  one  afternoon 
when  he  found  me  trespassing  in  the  woods  because 
I  was  watching  some  maggots  at  work  in  a  dead  rab- 
bit. That  led  us  to  a  discussion  of  life.  He  was  a 
thorough  materialist — he  scorned  religion  and  all 
mysticism.  He  spent  his  days  sleeping,  making  in- 
tricate traps  for  weasels  and  men,  putting  together  a 
gun,  or  doing  some  amateur  forestry,  cutting  down 
timber,  splitting  it  in  logs  for  use  in  the  hall,  and 
planting  young  trees.  When  he  thought,  he  reflected 
on  the  decay  of  mankind — the  decline  of  the  human 
race  into  folly  and  weakness  and  rottenness.  "  Be 
a  good  animal,  true  to  your  animal  instinct,"  was 
his  motto.  With  all  this,  he  was  fundamentally  very 
unhappy — and  he  made  me  also  wretched.  It  was 
this  power  to  communicate  his  unhappiness  that 
made  me  somewhat  dear  to  him,  I  think.  He  treated 
me  as  an  affectionate  father  treats  a  delicate  son;  I 
noticed  he  liked  to  put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder  or 
my  knee  as  we  talked ;  yet  withal,  he  asked  me  ques- 
tions, and  saved  his  thoughts  to  tell  me,  and  believed 
in  my  knowledge  like  any  acolyte. 

I  went  up  to  the  quarry  woods  one  evening  in 
early  April,  taking  a  look  for  Annable.    I  could  not 


A    SHADOW    IN    SPRING      225 

find  him,  however,  in  the  wood.  So  I  left  the  wild- 
lands,  and  went  along  by  the  old  red  wall  of  the 
kitchen  garden,  along  the  main  road  as  far  as  the 
mouldering  church  which  stands  high  on  a  bank  by 
the  road-side,  just  where  the  trees  tunnel  the  dark- 
ness, and  the  gloom  of  the  highway  startles  the  trav- 
ellers at  noon.  Great  trees  growing  on  the  banks 
suddenly  fold  over  everything  at  this  point  in  the 
swinging  road,  and  in  the  obscurity  rots  the  Hall 
church,  black  and  melancholy  above  the  shrinking 
head  of  the  traveller. 

The  grassy  path  to  the  churchyard  was  still  clogged 
with  decayed  leaves.  The  church  is  abandoned.  As 
I  drew  near  an  owl  floated  softly  out  of  the  black 
tower.  Grass  overgrew  the  threshold.  I  pushed  open 
the  door,  grinding  back  a  heap  of  fallen  plaster  and 
rubbish,  and  entered  the  place.  In  the  twilight  the 
pews  were  leaning  in  ghostly  disorder,  the  prayer- 
books  dragged  from  their  ledges,  scattered  on  the 
floor  in  the  dust  and  rubble,  torn  by  mice  and  birds. 
Birds  scuffled  in  the  darkness  of  the  roof.  I  looked 
up.  In  the  upward  well  of  the  tower  I  could  see  a 
bell  hanging.  I  stooped  and  picked  up  a  piece  of 
plaster  from  the  ragged  confusion  of  feathers,  and 
broken  nests,  and  remnants  of  dead  birds.  Up  into 
the  vault  overhead  I  tossed  pieces  of  plaster  until 
one  hit  the  bell,  and  it  "  tonged  "  out  its  faint  re- 
monstrance. There  was  a  rustle  of  many  birds  like 
spirits.  I  sounded  the  bell  again,  and  dark  forms 
moved  with  cries  of  alarm  overhead,  and  something 
fell  heavily.  I  shivered  in  the  dark,  evil-smelling 
place,  and  hurried  to  get  out  of  doors.  I  clutched 
my  hands  with  relief  and  pleasure  when  I  saw  the 


226       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

sky  above  me  quivering  with  the  last  crystal  lights, 
and  the  lowest  red  of  sunset  behind  the  yew-boles. 
I  drank  the  fresh  air,  that  sparkled  with  the  sound 
of  the  blackbirds  and  thrushes  whistling  their  strong 
bright  notes. 

I  strayed  round  to  where  the  headstones,  from 
their  eminence  leaned  to  look  on  the  Hall  below, 
where  great  windows  shone  yellow  light  on  to  the 
flagged  court-yard,  and  the  little  fish  pool.  A  stone 
stair-case  descended  from  the  graveyard  to  the  court, 
between  stone  balustrades  whose  pock-marked  grey 
columns  still  swelled  gracefully  and  with  dignity, 
encrusted  with  lichens.  The  staircase  was  filled 
with  ivy  and  rambling  roses — impassable.  Ferns 
were  unrolling  round  the  big  square  halting  place, 
half  way  down  where  the  stairs  turned. 

A  peacock,  startled  from  the  back  premises  of  the 
Hall,  came  flapping  up  the  terraces  to  the  church- 
yard. Then  a  heavy  footstep  crossed  the  flags.  It 
was  the  keeper.  I  whistled  the  whistle  he  knew,  and 
he  broke  his  way  through  the  vicious  rose-boughs  up 
the  stairs.  The  peacock  flapped  beyond  me,  on  to 
the  neck  of  an  old  bowed  angel,  rough  and  dark,  an 
angel  which  had  long  ceased  sorrowing  for  the  lost 
Lucy,  and  had  died  also.  The  bird  bent  its  volup- 
tuous neck  and  peered  about.  Then  it  lifted  up  its 
head  and  yelled.  The  sound  tore  the  dark  sanctuary 
of  twilight.  The  old  grey  grass  seemed  to  stir,  and 
I  could  fancy  the  smothered  primroses  and  violets 
beneath  it  waking  and  gasping  for  fear. 

The  keeper  looked  at  me  and  smiled.  He  nodded 
his  head  towards  the  peacock,  saying: 

"  Hark  at  that  damned  thing !  " 


A    SHADOW   IN    SPRING      227 

Again  the  bird  lifted  its  crested  head  and  gave  a 
cry,  at  the  same  time  turning  awkwardly  on  its  ugly 
legs,  so  that  it  showed  us  the  full  wealth  of  its  tail 
glimmering  like  a  stream  of  coloured  stars  over  the 
sunken  face  of  the  angel. 

"  The  proud  fool ! — look  at  it !  Perched  on  an 
angel,  too,  as  if  it  were  a  pedestal  for  vanity.  That's 
the  soul  of  a  woman — or  it's  the  devil." 

He  was  silent  for  a  time,  and  we  watched  the  great 
bird  moving  uneasily  before  us  in  the  twilight. 

"  That's  the  very  soul  of  a  lady,"  he  said,  "  the 
very,  very  soul.  Damn  the  thing,  to  perch  on  that 
old  angel.    I  should  like  to  wring  its  neck." 

Again  the  bird  screamed,  and  shifted  awkwardly 
on  its  legs;  it  seemed  to  stretch  its  beak  at  us  in 
derision.  Annable  picked  up  a  piece  of  sod  and 
flung  it  at  the  bird,  saying : 

*  Get  out,  you  screeching  devil !  God !  "  he 
laughed.  "  There  must  be  plenty  of  hearts  twist- 
ing under  here," — and  he  stamped  on  a  grave,  "  when 
they  hear  that  row." 

He  kicked  another  sod  from  a  grave  and  threw  at 
the  big  bird.  The  peacock  flapped  away,  over  the 
tombs,  down  the  terraces. 

*  Just  look !  "  he  said,  "  the  dirty  devil's  run  her 
muck  over  that  angel.  A  woman  to  the  end,  I  tell 
you,  all  vanity  and  screech  defilement." 

He  sat  down  on  a  vault  and  lit  his  pipe.  But 
before  he  had  smoked  two  minutes,  it  was  out  again. 
I  had  not  seen  him  in  a  state  of  perturbation  before. 

"  The  church,"  said  I,  "  is  rotten.  I  suppose 
they'll  stand  all  over  the  country  like  this,  soon — 
with  peacocks  trailing  the  graveyards." 


228      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

"  Ay,"  he  muttered,  taking  no  notice  of  me. 

"  This  stone  is  cold,"  I  said,  rising. 

He  got  up  too,  and  stretched  his  arms  as  if  he 
were  tired.  It  was  quite  dark,  save  for  the  waxing 
moon  which  leaned  over  the  east. 

"  It  is  a  very  fine  night,"  I  said.  "  Don't  you  no- 
tice a  smell  of  violets  ?  " 

"  Ay !  The  moon  looks  like  a  woman  with  child. 
I  wonder  what  Time's  got  in  her  belly." 

"  You  ?  "  I  said.  "  You  don't  expect  anything  ex- 
citing do  you  I  " 

"  Exciting ! — No — about  as  exciting  as  this  rot- 
ten old  place — just  rot  off — Oh,  my  God ! — I'm  like 
a  good  house,  built  and  finished,  and  left  to  tumble 
down  again  with  nobody  to  live  in  it." 

«  Why— what's  up— really  ?  " 

He  laughed  bitterly,  saying,  "  Come  and  sit  down." 

He  led  me  off  to  a  seat  by  the  north  door,  between 
two  pews,  very  black  and  silent.  There  we  sat,  he 
putting  his  gun  carefully  beside  him.  He  remained 
perfectly  still,  thinking. 

"  Whot's  up  ?  "  he  said,  at  last,  "  Why— I'll  tell 
you.  I  went  to  Cambridge — my  father  was  a  big 
cattle  dealer — he  died  bankrupt  while  I  was  in  col- 
lege, and  I  never  took  my  degree.  They  persuaded 
me  to  be  a  parson,  and  a  parson  I  was. 

I  went  a  curate  to  a  little  place  in  Leicestershire — 
a  bonnie  place,  with  not  many  people,  and  a  fine  old 
church,  and  a  great  rich  parsonage.  I  hadn't  over- 
much to  do,  and  the  rector — he  was  the  son  of  an 
Earl — was  generous.  He  lent  me  a  horse  and  would 
have  me  hunt  like  the  rest.  I  always  think  of  that 
place  with  a  smell  of  honeysuckle  while  the  grass  is 


A    SHADOW   IN    SPRING      229 

wet  in  the  morning.  It  was  fine,  and  I  enjoyed  my- 
self, and  did  the  parish  work  all  right.  I  believe  I 
was  pretty  good. 

A  cousin  of  the  rector's  used  to  come  in  the  hunt- 
ing season — a  Lady  Crystabel,  lady  in  her  own  right. 
The  second  year  I  was  there  she  came  in  June. 
There  wasn't  much  company,  so  she  used  to  talk  to 
me — I  used  to  read  then — and  she  used  to  pretend 
to  he  so  childish  and  unknowing,  and  would  get  me 
telling  her  things,  and  talking  to  her,  and  I  was  hot 
on  things.  We  must  play  tennis  together,  and  ride 
together,  and  I  must  row  her  down  the  river.  She 
said  we  were  in  the  wilderness  and  could  do  as  we 
liked.  She  made  me  wear  flannels  and  soft  clothes. 
She  was  very  fine  and  frank  and  unconventional — 
ripping,  I  thought  her.  All  the  summer  she  stopped 
on.  I  should  meet  her  in  the  garden  early  in  the 
morning  when  I  came  from  a  swim  in  the  river — it 
was  cleared  and  deepened  on  purpose — and  she'd 
blush  and  make  me  walk  with  her.  I  can  remember 
I  used  to  stand  and  dry  myself  on  the  bank  full  where 
she  might  see  me — I  was  mad  on  her — and  she  was 
madder  on  me. 

We  went  to  some  caves  in  Derbyshire  once,  and 
she  would  wander  from  the  rest,  and  loiter,  and,  for 
a  game,  we  played  a  sort  of  hide  and  seek  with  the 
party.  They  thought  we'd  gone,  and  they  went  and 
locked  the  door.  Then  she  pretended  to  be  fright- 
ened and  clung  to  me,  and  said  what  would  they 
think,  and  hid  her  face  in  my  coat.  I  took  her  and 
kissed  her,  and  we  made  it  up  properly.  I  found 
out  afterwards — she  actually  told  me — she'd  got  the 
idea  from  a  sloppy  French  novel — the  Komance  of 


230       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

A  Poor  Young  Man.  I  was  the  Poor  Young 
Man. 

We  got  married.  She  gave  me  a  living  she  had  in 
her  parsonage,  and  we  went  to  live  at  her  Hall.  She 
wouldn't  let  me  out  of  her  sight.  God ! — we  were  a 
passionate  couple — and  she  would  have  me  in  her 
bedroom  while  she  drew  Greek  statues  of  me — her 
Croton,  her  Hercules!  I  never  saw  her  drawings. 
She  had  her  own  way  too  much — I  let  her  do  as  she 
liked  with  me. 

Then  gradually  she  got  tired — it  took  her  three 
years  to  have  a  real  bellyful  of  me.  I  had  a  physique 
then — for  that  matter  I  have  now." 

He  held  out  his  arm  to  me,  and  bade  me  try  his 
muscle.  I  was  startled.  The  hard  flesh  almost  filled 
his  sleeve. 

"  Ah,"  he  continued,  "  You  don't  know  what  it  is 
to  have  the  pride  of  a  body  like  mine.  But  she 
wouldn't  have  children — no,  she  wouldn't — said  she 
daren't.  That  was  the  root  of  the  difference  at  first 
But  she  cooled  down,  and  if  you  don't  know  the  pride 
of  my  body  you'd  never  know  my  humiliation.  I 
tried  to  remonstrate — and  she  looked  simply  astound- 
ed at  my  cheek.     I  never  got  over  that  amazement. 

She  began  to  get  souly.  A  poet  got  hold  of  her, 
and  she  began  to  affect  Burne-Jones — or  Waterhouse 
— it  was  Waterhouse — she  was  a  lot  like  one  of  his 
women — Lady  of  Shalott,  I  believe.  At  any  rate, 
she  got  souly,  and  I  was  her  animal — son  animal — 
son  boeuf.  I  put  up  with  that  for  above  a  year. 
Then  I  got  some  servants'  clothes  and  went. 

I  was  seen  in  France — then  in  Australia — though 
I  never  left  England.     I  was  supposed  to  have  died 


A   SHADOW   IN    SPRING      231 

in  the  bush.  She  married  a  young  fellow.  Then  I 
was  proved  to  have  died,  and  I  read  a  little  obituary- 
notice  on  myself  in  a  woman's  paper  she  subscribed 
to.  She  wrote  it  herself — as  a  warning  to  other 
young  ladies  of  position  not  to  be  seduced  by  plaus- 
ible "  Poor  Young  Men." 

Now  she's  dead.  They've  got  the  paper — her 
paper — in  the  kitchen  down  there,  and  it's  full  of 
photographs,  even  an  old  photo  of  me — "  an  un- 
fortunate misalliance."  I  feel,  somehow,  as  if  I 
were  at  an  end  too.  I  thought  I'd  grown  a  solid, 
middle-aged-man,  and  here  I  feel  sore  as  I  did  at 
twenty-six,  and  I  talk  as  I  used  to. 

One  thing — I  have  got  some  children,  and  they're 
of  a  breed  as  you'd  not  meet  anywhere.  I  was  a  good 
animal  before  everything,  and  I've  got  some  children." 

He  sat  looking  up  where  the  big  moon  swam 
through  the  black  branches  of  the  yew. 

"  So  she's  dead — your  poor  peacock !  "  I  mur- 
mured. 

He  got  up,  looking  always  at  the  sky,  and  stretched 
himself  again.  He  was  an  impressive  figure  massed 
in  blackness  against  the  moonlight,  with  his  arms 
outspread. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said,  "  it  wasn't  all  her  fault." 

"  A  white  peacock,  we  will  say,"  I  suggested. 

He  laughed. 

"  Go  home  by  the  top  road,  will  you !  "  he  said. 
"  I  believe  there's  something  on  in  the  bottom  wood." 

"  All  right,"  I  answered,  with  a  quiver  of  appre- 
hension. 

"  Yes,  she  was  fair  enough,"  he  muttered. 

"  Ay,"  said  I,  rising.     I  held  out  my  hand  from 


232      THE    WHITE   PEACOCK 

the  shadow.  I  was  startled  myself  by  the  white 
sympathy  it  seemed  to  express,  extended  towards  him 
in  the  moonlight.  He  gripped  it,  and  cleaved  to  me 
for  a  moment,  then  he  was  gone. 

I  went  out  of  the  churchyard  feeling  a  sullen  re- 
sentment against  the  tousled  graves  that  lay  inani- 
mate across  my  way.  The  air  was  heavy  to  breathe, 
and  fearful  in  the  shadow  of  the  great  trees.  I  was 
glad  when  I  came  out  on  the.  bare  white  road,  and 
could  see  the  copper  lights  from  the  reflectors  of  a' 
pony-cart's  lamps,  and  could  hear  the  amiable  chat- 
chat  of  the  hoofs  trotting  towards  me.  I  was  lonely 
when  they  had  passed. 

Over  the  hill,  the  big  flushed  face  of  the  moon 
poised  just  above  the  treetops,  very  majestic,  and  far 
off — yet  imminent.  I  turned  with  swift  sudden 
friendliness  to  the  net  of  elm-boughs  spread  over  my 
head,  dotted  with  soft  clusters  winsomely.  I  jumped 
up  and  pulled  the  cool  soft  tufts  against  my  face  for 
company ;  and  as  I  passed,  still  I  reached  upward  for 
the  touch  of  this  budded  gentleness  of  the  trees.  The 
wood  breathed  fragrantly,  with  a  subtle  sympathy. 
The  firs  softened  their  touch  to  me,  and  the  larches 
woke  from  the  barren  winter-sleep,  and  put  out  velvet 
fingers  to  caress  me  as  I  passed.  Only  the  clean, 
bare  branches  of  the  ash  stood  emblem  of  the  dis- 
cipline of  life.  I  looked  down  on  the  blackness 
where  trees  filled  the  quarry  and  the  valley  bottoms, 
and  it  seemed  that  the  world,  my  own  home-world, 
was  strange  again. 

Some  four  or  five  days  after  Annable  had  talked 
to  me  in  the  churchyard,  I  went  out  to  find  him 


A    SHADOW   IN    SPRING      233 

again.  It  was  Sunday  morning.  The  larch-wood 
was  afloat  with  clear,  lyric  green,  and  some  prim- 
roses scattered  whitely  on  the  edge  under  the  fringing 
boughs.  It  was  a  clear  morning,  as  when  the  latent 
life  of  the  world  begins  to  vibrate  afresh  in  the  air. 
The  smoke  from  the  cottage  rose  blue  against  the 
trees,  and  thick  yellow  against  the  sky.  The  fire, 
it  seemed,  was  only  just  lighted,  and  the  wood-smoke 
poured  out. 

Sam  appeared  outside  the  house,  and  looked  round. 
Then  he  climbed  the  water-trough  for  a  better  survey. 
Evidently  unsatisfied,  paying  slight  attention  to  me, 
he  jumped  down  and  went  running  across  the  hillside 
to  the  wood.  "  He  is  going  for  his  father,"  I  said 
to  myself,  and  I  left  the  path  to  follow  him  down  hill 
across  the  waste  meadow,  crackling  the  blanched 
stems  of  last  year's  thistles  as  I  went,  and  stumbling 
in  rabbit  holes.  He  reached  the  wall  that  ran  along 
the  quarry's  edge,  and  was  over  it  in  a  twinkling. 

When  I  came  to  the  place,  I  was  somewhat  non- 
plussed, for  sheer  from  the  stone  fence,  the  quarry- 
side  dropped  for  some  twenty  or  thirty  feet,  piled  up 
with  unmortared  stones.  I  looked  round — there  was 
a  plain  dark  thread  down  the  hillside,  which  marked 
a  path  to  this  spot,  and  the  wall  was  scored  with  the 
marks  of  heavy  boots.  Then  I  looked  again  down  the 
quarry-side,  and  I  saw — how  could  I  have  failed  to 
see  ? — stones  projecting  to  make  an  uneven  staircase, 
such  as  is  often  seen  in  the  Derbyshire  fences.  I  saw 
this  ladder  was  well  used,  so  I  trusted  myself  to  it, 
and  scrambled  down,  clinging  to  the  face  of  the  quarry 
wall.  Once  down,  I  felt  pleased  with  myself  for  hav- 
ing discovered  and  used  the  unknown  access,   and 


234      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

I  admired  the  care  and  ingenuity  of  the  keeper,  who 
had  fitted  and  wedged  the  long  stones  into  the  uncer- 
tain pile. 

It  was  warm  in  the  quarry:  there  the  sunshine 
seemed  to  thicken  and  sweeten;  there  the  little 
mounds  of  overgrown  waste  were  aglow  with  very 
early  dog-violets;  there  the  sparks  were  coming  out 
on  the  bits  of  gorse,  and  among  the  stones  the  colt- 
foot  plumes  were  already  silvery.  Here  was  spring 
sitting  just  awake,  unloosening  her  glittering  hair, 
and  opening  her  purple  eyes. 

I  went  across  the  quarry,  down  to  where  the  brook 
ran  murmuring  a  tale  to  the  primroses  and  the  bud- 
ding trees.  I  was  startled  from  my  wandering 
among  the  fresh  things  by  a  faint  clatter  of  stones. 

"  What's  that  young  rascal  doing  ?  "  I  said  to  my- 
self, setting  forth  to  see.  I  came  towards  the  other 
side  of  the  quarry:  on  this,  the  moister  side,  the 
bushes  grew  up  against  the  wall,  which  was  higher 
than  on  the  other  side,  though  piled  the  same  with 
old  dry  stones.  As  I  drew  near  I  could  hear  the 
scrape  and  rattle  of  stones,  and  the  vigorous  grunting 
of  Sam  as  he  laboured  among  them.  He  was  hidden 
by  a  great  bush  of  sallow  catkins,  all  yellow,  and 
murmuring  with  bees,  warm  with  spice.  When  he 
came  in  view  I  laughed  to  see  him  lugging  and  grunt- 
ing among  the  great  pile  of  stones  that  had  fallen 
in  a  mass  from  the  quarry-side ;  a  pile  of  stones  and 
earth  and  crushed  vegetation.  There  was  a  great 
bare  gap  in  the  quarry  wall.  Somehow,  the  lad's 
labouring  earnestness  made  me  anxious,  and  I  hur- 
ried up. 

He  heard  me,  and  glancing  round,  his  face  red 


A   SHADOW   IN    SPRING      235 

with  exertion,  eyes  big  with  terror,  he  called,  com- 
manding me : 

«  Pull  'em  off  'im— pull  'em  off !  " 

Suddenly  my  heart  beating  in  my  throat  nearly 
suffocated  me.  I  saw  the  hand  of  the  keeper  lying 
among  the  stones.  I  set  to  tearing  away  the  stones, 
and  we  worked  for  some  time  without  a  word.  Then 
I  seized  the  arm  of  the  keeper  and  tried  to  drag  him 
out.     But  I  could  not. 

"  Pull  it  off  'im !  "  whined  the  lad,  working  in  a 
frenzy. 

When  we  got  him  out  I  saw  at  once  he  was  dead, 
and  I  sat  down  trembling  with  exertion.  There  was 
a  great  smashed  wound  on  the  side  of  the  head.  Sam 
put  his  face  against  his  father's  and  snuffed  round 
him  like  a  dog,  to  feel  the  life  in  him.  The  child 
looked  at  me : 

"  He  won't  get  up,"  he  said,  and  his  little  voice 
was  hoarse  with  fear  and  anxiety. 

I  shook  my  head.  Then  the  boy  began  to  whimper. 
He  tried  to  close  the  lips  which  were  drawn  with  pain 
and  death,  leaving  the  teeth  bare;  then  his  fingers 
hovered  round  the  eyes,  which  were  wide  open, 
glazed,  and  I  could  see  he  was  trembling  to  touch 
them  into  life. 

"  He's  not  asleep,"  he  said,  "  because  his  eyes  is 
open — look !  " 

I  could  not  bear  the  child's  questioning  terror.  I 
took  him  up  to  carry  him  away,  but  he  struggled  and 
fought  to  be  free. 

"  Ma'e  'im  get  up — ma'e  'im  get  up,"  he  cried  in  a 
frenzy,  and  I  had  to  let  the  boy  go. 

He    ran    to    the    dead    man,    calling    "  Peyther ! 


236       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

Feyther !  "  and  pulling  his  shoulder ;  then  he  sat 
down,  fascinated  by  the  sight  of  the  wound;  he  put 
out  his  finger  to  touch  it,  and  shivered. 

"  Come  away,"  said  I. 

"  Is  it  that  ?  "  he  asked,  pointing  to  the  wound.  I 
covered  the  face  with  a  big  silk  handkerchief. 

"  Now,"  said  I,  "  he'll  go  to  sleep  if  you  don't 
touch  him — so  sit  still  while  I  go  and  fetch  some- 
body.    Will  you  run  to  the  Hall  ? " 

He  shook  his  head.  I  knew  he  would  not.  So  I 
told  him  again  not  to  touch  his  father,  but  to  let  him 
lie  still  till  I  came  back.  He  watched  me  go,  but  did 
not  move  from  his  seat  on  the  stones  beside  the  dead 
man,  though  I  know  he  was  full  of  terror  at  being 
left  alone. 

I  ran  to  the  Hall — I  dared  not  go  to  the  Kennels. 
In  a  short  time  I  was  back  with  the  squire  and  three 
men.  As  I  led  the  way,  I  saw  the  child  lifting  a 
corner  of  the  handkerchief  to  peep  and  see  if  the  eyes 
were  closed  in  sleep.  Then  he  heard  us,  and  started 
violently.  When  we  removed  the  covering,  and  he 
saw  the  face  unchanged  in  its  horror,  he  looked  at 
me  with  a  look  I  have  never  forgotten. 

"  A  bad  business — an  awful  business !  "  repeated 
the  squire.  "  A  bad  business.  I  said  to  him  from 
the  first  that  the  stones  might  come  down  when  he 
was  going  up,  and  he  said  he  had  taken  care  to  fix 
them.  But  you  can't  be  sure,  you  can't  be  certain. 
And  he'd  be  about  half  way  up — ay — and  the  whole 
wall  would  come  down  on  him.  An  awful  business, 
it  is  really ;  a  terrible  piece  of  work !  " 

They  decided  at  the  inquest  that  the  death  came 
by  misadventure.     But  there  were  vague  rumours  in 


A    SHADOW   IN    SPRING      237 

the  village  that  this  was  revenge  which  had  overtaken 
the  keeper. 

They  decided  to  bury  him  in  our  churchyard  at 
Greymede  under  the  beeches ;  the  widow  would  have 
it  so,  and  nothing  might  be  denied  her  in  her  state. 

It  was  a  magnificent  morning  iu  early  spring  when 
I  watched  among  the  trees  to  see  the  procession  come 
down  the  hillside.  The  upper  air  was  woven  with 
the  music  of  the  larks,  and  my  whole,  world  thrilled 
with  the  conception  of  summer.  The  young  pale 
wind-flowers  had  arisen  by  the  wood-gale,  and  under 
the  hazels,  when  perchance  the  hot  sun  pushed  his 
way,  new  little  suns  dawned,  and  blazed  with  real 
light.  There  was  a  certain  thrill  and  quickening 
everywhere,  as  a  woman  must  feel  when  she  has  con- 
ceived. A  sallow  tree  in  a  favoured  spot  looked  like 
a  pale  gold  cloud  of  summer  dawn;  nearer  it  had 
poised  a  golden,  fairy  busby  on  every  twig,  and  was 
voiced  with  a  hum  of  bees,  like  any  sacred  golden 
bush,  uttering  its  gladness  in  the  thrilling  murmur  of 
bees,  and  in  warm  scent.  Birds  called  and  flashed  on 
every  hand;  they  made  off  exultant  with  streaming 
strands  of  grass,  or  wisps  of  fleece,  plunging  into  the 
dark  spaces  of  the  wood,  and  out  again  into  the  blue. 

A  lad  moved  across  the  field  from  the  farm  below 
with  a  dog  trotting  behind  him, — a  dog,  no,  a  fussy, 
black-legged  lamb  trotting  along  on  its  toes,  with  its 
tail  swinging  behind.  They  were  going  to  the 
mothers  on  the  common,  who  moved  like  little  grey 
clouds  among  the  dark  grose. 

I 'cannot  help  forgetting,  and  sharing  the  spink's 
triumph,  when  he  flashes  past  with  a  fleece  from  a 


238      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

bramble  bush.  It  will  cover  the  bedded  moss,  it  will 
weave  among  the  soft  red  cow-hair  beautifully.  It 
is  a  prize,  it  is  an  ecstasy  to  have  captured  it  at  the 
right  moment,  and  the  nest  is  nearly  ready. 

Ah,  but  the  thrush  is  scornful,  ringing  out  his  voice 
from  the  hedge !  He  sets  his  breast  against  the  mud, 
and  models  it  warm  for  the  turquoise  eggs — blue, 
blue,  bluest  of  eggs,  which  cluster  so  close  and  round 
against  the  breast,  which  round  up  beneath  the  breast, 
nestling  content.  You  should  see  the  bright  ecstasy 
in  the  eyes  of  a  nesting  thrush,  because  of  the  rounded 
caress  of  the  eggs  against  her  breast ! 

What  a  hurry  the  jenny  wren  makes — hoping  I 
shall  not  see  her  dart  into  the  low  bush.  I  have  a 
delight  in  watching  them  against  their  shy  little 
wills.  But  they  have  all  risen  with  a  rush  of  wings, 
and  are  gone,  the  birds.  The  air  is  brushed  with 
agitation.  There  is  no  lark  in  the  sky,  not  one ;  the 
heaven  is  clear  of  wings  or  twinkling  dot . 

Till  the  heralds  come — till  the  heralds  wave  like 
shadows  in  the  bright  air,  crying,  lamenting,  fretting 
forever.  Rising  and  falling  and  circling  round  and 
round,  the  slow-waving  peewits  cry  and  complain, 
and  lift  their  broad  wings  in  sorrow.  They  stoop 
suddenly  to  the  ground,  the  lapwings,  then  in  another 
throb  of  anguish  and  protest,  they  swing  up  again, 
offering  a  glistening  white  breast  to  the  sunlight,  to 
deny  it  in  black  shadow,  then  a  glisten  of  green,  and 
all  the  time  crying  and  crying  in  despair. 

The  pheasants  are  frightened  into  cover,  they  run 
and  dart  through  the  hedge.  The  cold  cock  must  fly 
in  his  haste,  spread  himself  on  his  streaming  plumes, 
and  sail  into  the  wood's  security. 


A   SHADOW   IN    SPRING      239 

There  is  a  cry  in  answer  to  the  peewits,  echoing 
louder  and  stronger  the  lamentation  of  the  lapwings, 
a  wail  which  hushes  the  birds.  The  men  come  over 
the  brow  of  the  hill,  slowly,  with  the  old  squire  walk- 
ing tall  and  straight  in  front ;  six  bowed  men  bearing 
the  coffin  on  their  shoulders,  treading  heavily  and 
cautiously,  under  the  great  weight  of  the  glistening 
white  coffin;  six  men  following  behind,  ill  at  ease, 
waiting  their  turn  for  the  burden.  You  can  see  the 
red  handkerchiefs  knotted  round  their  throats,  and 
their  shirt-fronts  blue  and  white  between  the  open 
waistcoats.  The  coffin  is  of  new  unpolished  wood, 
gleaming  and  glistening  in  the  sunlight ;  the  men  who 
carry  it  remember  all  their  lives  after  the  smell  of 
new,  warm  elm-wood. 

Again  a  loud  cry  from  the  hill-top.  The  woman 
has  followed  thus  far,  the  big,  shapeless  woman,  and 
she  cries  with  loud  cries  after  the  white  coffin  as  it 
descends  the  hill,  and  the  children  that  cling  to  her 
skirts  weep  aloud,  and  are  not  to  be  hushed  by  the 
other  woman,  who  bends  over  them,  but  does  not 
form  one  of  the  group.  How  the  crying  frightens 
the  birds,  and  the  rabbits ;  and  the  lambs  away  there 
run  to  their  mothers.  But  the  peewits  are  not  fright- 
ened, they  add  their  notes  to  the  sorrow;  they  circle 
after  the  white,  retreating  coffin,  they  circle  round  the 
woman ;  it  is  they  who  forever  "  keen  "  the  sorrows 
of  this  world.  They  are  like  priests  in  their  robes, 
more  black  than  white,  more  grief  than  hope,  driving 
endlessly  round  and  round,  turning,  lifting,  falling 
and  crying  always  in  mournful  desolation,  repeating 
their  last  syllables  like  the  broken  accents  of  despair. 

The  bearers  have  at  last  sunk  between  the  high 


240      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

banks,  and  turned  out  of  sight.  The  big  woman 
cannot  see  them,  and  yet  she  stands  to  look.  She 
must  go  home,  there  is  nothing  left. 

They  have  rested  the  coffin  on  the  gate  posts,  and 
the  bearers  are  wiping  the  sweat  from  their  faces. 
They  put  their  hands  to  their  shoulders  on  the  place 
where  the  weight  has  pressed. 

The  other  six  are  placing  the  pads  on  their  shoul- 
ders, when  a  girl  comes  up  with  a  jug,  and  a  blue 
pot.  The  squire  drinks  first,  and  fills  for  the  rest. 
Meanwhile  the  girl  stands  back  under  the  hedge, 
away  from  the  coffin  which  smells  of  new  elm-wood. 
In  imagination  she  pictures  the  man  shut  up  there 
in  close  darkness,  while  the  sunlight  flows  all  out- 
side, and  she  catches  her  breast  with  terror.  She 
must  turn  and  rustle  among  the  leaves  of  the  violets 
for  the  flowers  she  does  not  see.  Then,  trembling, 
she  comes  to  herself,  and  plucks  a  few  flowers  and 
breathes  them  hungrily  into  her  soul,  for  comfort. 
The  men  put  down  the  pots  beside  her,  with  thanks, 
and  the  squire  gives  the  word.  The  bearers  lift  up 
the  burden  again,  and  the  elm-boughs  rattle  along  the 
hollow  white  wood,  and  the  pitiful  red  clusters  of 
elm-flowers  sweep  along  it  as  if  they  whispered  in 

sympathy — "  We  are  so  sorry,  so  sorry ; "  always 

the  compassionate  buds  in  their  fulness  of  life  bend 
down  to  comfort  the  dark  man  shut  up  there.  "  Per- 
haps," the  girl  thinks,  "  he  hears  them,  and  goes 
softly  to  sleep."  She  shakes  the  tears  out  of  her  eyes 
on  to  the  ground,  and,  taking  up  her  pots,  goes 
slowly  down,  over  the  brooks. 

In  a  while,  I  too  got  up  and  went  down  to  the 
mill,   which  lay   red   and   peaceful,   with  the  blue 


A    SHADOW   IN    SPRING      241 

smoke  rising  as  winsomely  and  carelessly  as  ever.  On 
the  other  side  of  the  valley  I  could  see  a  pair  of 
horses  nod  slowly  across  the  fallow.  A  man's  voice 
called  to  them  now  and  again  with  a  resonance  that 
filled  me  with  longing  to  follow  my  horses  over  the 
fallow,  in  the  still,  lonely  valley,  full  of  sunshine 
and  eternal  forgetfulness.  The  day  had  already  for- 
gotten. The  water  was  blue  and  white  and  dark- 
burnished  with  shadows ;  two  swans  sailed  across  the 
reflected  trees  with  perfect  blithe  grace.  The  gloom 
that  had  passed  across  was  gone.  I  watched  the  swan 
with  his  ruffled  wings  swell  onwards;  I  watched 
his  slim  consort  go  peeping  into  corners  and 
under  bushes;  I  saw  him  steer  clear  of  the  bushes, 
to  keep  full  in  view,  turning  his  head  to  me  imperi- 
ously, till  I  longed  to  pelt  him  with  the  empty 
husks  of  last  year's  flowers,  knap-weed  and  scabius. 
I  was  too  indolent,  and  I  turned  instead  to  the 
orchard. 

There  the  daffodils  were  lifting  their  heads  and 
throwing  back  their  yellow  curls.  At  the  foot  of  each 
sloping,  grey  old  tree  stood  a  family  of  flowers,  some 
bursten  with  golden  fulness,  some  lifting  their  heads 
slightly,  to  show  a  modest,  sweet  countenance,  others 
still  hiding  their  faces,  leaning  forward  pensively 
from  the  jaunty  grey-green  spears;  I  wished  I  had 
their  language,  to  talk  to  them  distinctly. 

Overhead,  the  trees,  with  lifted  fingers  shook  out 
their  hair  to  the  sun,  decking  themselves  with  buds 
as  white  and  cool  as  a  water-nymphs  breasts. 

I  began  to  be  very  glad.  The  colts-foot  discs 
glowed  and  laughed  in  a  merry  company  down  the 
path;  I  stroked  the  velvet  faces,  and  laughed  also, 


242      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

and  I  smelled  the  scent  of  black-currant  leaves,  which 
is  full  of  childish  memories. 

The  house  was  quiet  and  complacent;  it  was  peo- 
pled with  ghosts  again ;  but  the  ghosts  had  only  come 
to  enjoy  the  warm  place  once  more,  carrying  sunshine 
in  their  arms  and  scattering  it  through  the  dusk  of 
gloomy  rooms. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    IRONY    OF    INSPIRED    MOMENTS 

It  happened,  the  next  day  after  the  funeral,  I  came 
upon  reproductions  of  Aubrey  Beardsley's  "  Ata- 
lanta,"  and  of  the  tail-piece  to  "  Salome,"  and  oth- 
ers. I  sat  and  looked  and  my  soul  leaped  out  upon 
the  new  thing.  I  was  bewildered,  wondering,  grudg- 
ing, fascinated.  I  looked  a  long  time,  but  my  mind, 
or  my  soul,  would  come  to  no  state  of  coherence.  I 
was  fascinated  and  overcome,  but  yet  full  of  stub- 
bornness and  resistance. 

Lettie  was  out,  so,  although  it  was  dinner-time, 
even  because  it  was  dinner-time,  I  took  the  book  and 
went  down  to  the  mill. 

The  dinner  was  over;  there  was  the  fragrance  of 
cooked  rhubarb  in  the  room.  I  went  straight  to 
Emily,  who  was  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  and  put 
the  "  Salome  "  before  her. 

"  Look,"  said  I,  "  look  here !  " 

She  looked;  she  was  short-sighted,  and  peered 
close.  I  was  impatient  for  her  to  speak.  She  turned 
slowly  at  last  and  looked  at  me,  shrinking,  with  ques- 
tioning. 

"Well?"  I  said. 

"  Isn't  it — fearful !  "  she  replied,  softly. 

"No!— why  is  it?" 

"  It  makes  you  feel — Why  have  you  brought  it  ?  " 

"  I  wanted  you  to  see  it." 

243 


244      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

Already  I  felt  relieved,  seeing  that  she  too  was 
caught  in  the  spell. 

George  came  and  bent  over  my  shoulder.  I  could 
feel  the  heavy  warmth  of  him. 

"  Good  Lord ! "  he  drawled,  half  amused.  The 
children  came  crowding  to  see,  and  Emily  closed  the 
book. 

"  I  shall  be  late — Hurry  up,  Dave !  "  and  she 
went  to  wash  her  hands  before  going  to  school. 

"  Give  it  me,  will  you !  "  George  asked,  putting 
out  his  hand  for  the  book.  I  gave  it  him,  and  he  sat 
down  to  look  at  the  drawings.  When  Mollie  crept 
near  to  look,  he  angrily  shouted  to  her  to  get  away. 
She  pulled  a  mouth,  and  got  her  hat  over  her  wild 
brown  curls.     Emily  came  in  ready  for  school. 

"  I'm  going — good-bye,"  she  said,  and  she  waited 
hesitatingly.  I  moved  to  get  my  cap.  He  looked  up 
with  a  new  expression  in  his  eyes,  and  said : 

"  Are  you  going  ? — wait  a  bit — I'm  coming." 

I  waited. 

"  Oh,  very  well — good-bye,"  said  Emily  bitterly, 
and  she  departed. 

When  he  had  looked  long  enough  he  got  up  and 
we  went  out.  He  kept  his  finger  between  the  pages 
of  the  book  as  he  carried  it.  We  went  towards  the 
fallow  land  without  speaking.  There  he  sat  down 
on  a  bank,  leaning  his  back  against  a  holly-tree,  and 
saying,  very  calmly: 

"  There's  no  need  to  be  in  any  hurry  now " 

whereupon  he  proceeded  to  study  the  illustrations. 

"  You  know,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I  do  want  her." 

I  started  at  the  irrelevance  of  this  remark,  and 
said,  "Who?" 


THE    INSPIRED    MOMENTS    245 

"  Lettie.    We've  got  notice,  did  you  know  ?  " 

I  started  to  my  feet  this  time  with  amazement. 

"  Notice  to  leave  ? — what  for  ?  " 

"  Kabbits  I  expect.    I  wish  she'd  have  me,  Cyril." 

"  To  leave  Strelley  Mill !  "  I  repeated. 

"  That's  it — and  I'm  rather  glad.  But  do  you 
think  she  might  have  me,  Cyril  ? " 

"  What  a  shame !  Where  will  you  go  ?  And  you 
lie  there  joking !  " 

"  I  don't.  Never  mind  about  the  damned  notice. 
I  want  her  more  than  anything. — And  the  more  I 
look  at  these  naked  lines,  the  more  I  want  her.  It's 
a  sort  of  fine  sharp  feeling,  like  these  curved  lines. 
I  don't  know  what  I'm  saying — but  do  you  think 
she'd  have  me  ?    Has  she  seen  these  pictures  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  If  she  did  perhaps  she'd  want  me — I  mean  she'd 
feel  it  clear  and  sharp  coming  through  her." 

"  I'll  show  her  and  see." 

"  I'd  been  sort  of  thinking  about  it — since  father 
had  that  notice.  It  seemed  as  if  the  ground  was 
pulled  from  under  our  feet.  I  never  felt  so  lost. 
Then  I  began  to  think  of  her,  if  she'd  have  me — but 
not  clear,  till  you  showed  me  those  pictures.  I  must 
have  her  if  I  can — and  I  must  have  something.  It's 
rather  ghostish  to  have  the  road  suddenly  smudged 
out,  and  all  the  world  anywhere,  nowhere  for  you  to 
go.  I  must  get  something  sure  soon,  or  else  I  feel 
as  if  I  should  fall  from  somewhere  and  hurt  myself. 
I'll  ask  her." 

I  looked  at  him  as  he  lay  there  under  the  holly- 
tree,  his  face  all  dreamy  and  boyish,  very  unusual. 

"  You'll  ask  Lettie?"  said  I,  "When— how?" 


246      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

"  I  must  ask  her  quick,  while  I  feel  as  if  every- 
thing had  gone,  and  I  was  ghostish.  I  think  I  must 
sound  rather  a  lunatic." 

He  looked  at  me,  and  his  eyelids  hung  heavy  over 
his  eyes  as  if  he  had  been  drinking,  or  as  if  he  were 
tired. 

"  Is  she  at  home  I "  he  said. 

"  No,  she's  gone  to  Nottingham.  She'll  be  home 
before  dark." 

"  I'll  see  her  then.     Can  you  smell  violets  ? " 

I  replied  that  I  could  not.  He  was  sure  that  he 
could,  and  he  seemed  uneasy  till  he  had  justified  the 
sensation.  So  he  arose,  very  leisurely,  and  went 
along  the  bank,  looking  closely  for  the  flowers. 

"  I  knew  I  could.    White  ones !  " 

He  sat  down  and  picked  three  flowers,  and  held 
them  to  his  nostrils,  and  inhaled  their  fragrance. 
Then  he  put  them  to  his  mouth,  and  I  saw  his  strong 
white  teeth  crush  them.  He  chewed  them  for  a  while 
without  speaking;  then  he  spat  them  out,  and  gath- 
ered more. 

"  They  remind  me  of  her  too,"  he  said,  and  he 
twisted  a  piece  of  honey-suckle  stem  round  the  bunch 
and  handed  it  to  me. 

"  A  white  violet,  is  she  ? "  I  smiled. 

"  Give  them  to  her,  and  tell  her  to  come  and  meet 
me  just  when  it's  getting  dark  in  the  wood." 

"But  if  she  won't?" 

"  She  will." 

"If  she's  not  at  home?" 

"  Come  and  tell  me." 

He  lay  down  again  with  his  head  among  the  green 
violet  leaves,  saying: 


THE    INSPIRED    MOMENTS   247 

"  I  ought  to  work,  because  it  all  counts  in  the 
valuation.    But  I  don't  care." 

He  lay  looking  at  me  for  some  time.  Then  he 
said  : 

"  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  have  above  twenty  pounds 
left  when  we've  sold  up — but  she's  got  plenty  of 
money  to  start  with — if  she  has  me — in  Canada.  I 
could  get  well  off — and  she  could  have — what  she 
wanted — I'm  sure  she'd  have  what  she  wanted." 

He  took  it  all  calmly  as  if  it  were  realised.  I  was 
somewhat  amused.  _ 

"  What  frock  will  she  have  on  when  she  comes  to 
meet  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  know.  The  same  as  she's  gone  to  Not- 
tingham in,  I  suppose — a  sort  of  gold-brown  costume 
with  a  rather  tight  fitting  coat.    Why  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking  how  she'd  look." 

"  What  chickens  are  you  counting  now  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  But  what  do  you  think  I  look  best  in  ? "  he  re- 
plied. 

"  You  ?  Just  as  you  are — no,  put  that  old  smooth 
cloth  coat  on — that's  all."  I  smiled  as  I  told  him, 
but  he  was  very  serious. 

"  Shan't  I  put  my  new  clothes  on  I  " 

"  No — you  want  to  leave  your  neck  showing." 

He  put  his  hand  to  his  throat,  and  said  naively: 

"  Do  I  ?  " — and  it  amused  him. 

Then  he  lay  looking  dreamily  up  into  the  tree.  I 
left  him,  and  went  wandering  round  the  fields  find- 
ing flowers  and  bird's  nests. 

When  I  came  back,  it  was  nearly  four  o'clock.  He 
stood  up  and  stretched  himself.  He  pulled  out  his 
watch. 


248      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  Good  Lord,"  he  drawled,  "  I've  lain  there  think- 
ing all  afternoon.  I  didn't  know  I  could  do  such  a 
thing.  Where  have  you  been?  It's  with  being  all 
upset  you  see.  You  left  the  violets — here,  take  them, 
will  you;  and  tell  her:  I'll  come  when  it's  getting 
dark.  I  feel  like  somebody  else — or  else  really  like 
myself.  I  hope  I  shan't  wake  up  to  the  other  things 
— you  know,  like  I  am  always — before  them." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know — only  I  feel  as  if  I  could  talk 
straight  off  without  arranging — like  birds,  without 
knowing  what  note  is  coming  next." 

When  I  was  going  he  said: 

"  Here,  leave  me  that  book — it'll  keep  me  like  this 
— I  mean  I'm  not  the  same  as  I  was  yesterday,  and 
that  book  '11  keep  me  like  it.  Perhaps  it's  a  bilious 
bout — I  do  sometimes  have  one,  if  something  very 
extraordinary  happens.  When  it's  getting  dark 
then!" 

Lettie  had  not  arrived  when  I  went  home.  I  put 
the  violets  in  a  little  vase  on  the  table.  I  remem- 
bered he  had  wanted  her  to  see  the  drawings — it  was 
perhaps  as  well  he  had  kept  them. 

She  came  about  six  o'clock — in  the  motor-car  with 
Marie.  But  the  latter  did  not  descend.  I  went 
out  to  assist  with  the  parcels.  Lettie  had  already 
begun  to  buy  things;  the  wedding  was  fixed  for 
July. 

The  room  was  soon  over-covered  with  stuffs :  table 
linen,  underclothing,  pieces  of  silken  stuff  and  lace 
stuff,  patterns  for  carpets  and  curtains,  a  whole 
gleaming  glowing  array.     Lettie  was  very  delighted. 


THE    INSPIRED    MOMENTS   249 

She  could  hardly  wait  to  take  off  her  hat,  but  went 
round  cutting  the  string  of  her  parcels,  opening  them, 
talking  all  the  time  to  my  mother. 

"  Look,  Little  Woman.  IVe  got  a  ready-made 
underskirt — isn't  it  lovely.  Listen !  "  and  she  ruffled 
it  through  her  hands.  "  Shan't  I  sound  splendid ! 
Frou-Frou !  But  it  is  a  charming  shade,  isn't  it,  and 
not  a  bit  bulky  or  clumsy  anywhere  1 "  She  put  the 
band  of  the  skirt  against  her  waist,  and  put  forward 
her  foot,  and  looked  down,  saying,  "  It's  just  the 
right  length,  isn't  it,  Little  Woman  ? — and  they  said 
I  was  tall — it  was  a  wonder.  Don't  you  wish  it  were 
yours,  Little? — oh,  you  won't  confess  it.  Yes  you 
like  to  be  as  fine  as  anybody — that's  why  I  bought 
you  this  piece  of  silk — isn't  it  sweet,  though  ? — you 
needn't  say  there's  too  much  lavender  in  it,  there  is 
not.  Now !  "  She  pleated  it  up  and  held  it  against 
my  mother's  chin.  "  It  suits  you  beautifully — 
doesn't  it.  Don't  you  like  it,  Sweet?  You  don't 
seem  to  like  it  a  bit,  and  I'm  sure  it  suits  you — 
makes  you  look  ever  so  young.  I  wish  you  wouldn't 
be  so  old  fashioned  in  your  notions.  You  do  like  it, 
don't  you?" 

"  Of  course  I  do — I  was  only  thinking  what  an 
extravagant  mortal  you  are  when  you  begin  to  buy. 
You  know  you  mustn't  keep  on  always " 

"  Now — now,  Sweet,  don't  be  ^naughty  and 
preachey.  It's  such  a  treat  to  go  buying:  You  will 
come  with  me  next  time,  won't  you  ?  Oh,  I  have 
enjoyed  it — but  I  wished  you  were  there — Marie 
takes  anything,  she's  so  easy  to  suit — I  like  to  have 
a  good  buy — Oh,  it  was  splendid! — and  there's  lots 
more  yet.    Oh,  did  you  see  this  cushion  cover — these 


250      THE    WHITE   PEACOCK 

are  the  colours  I  want  for  that  room — gold  and  am- 
ber  " 

This  was  a  bad  opening.  I  watched  the  shadows 
darken  further  and  further  along  the  brightness,  hush- 
ing the  glitter  of  the  water.  I  watched  the  golden 
ripeness  come  upon  the  west,  and  thought  the  rencon- 
tre was  never  to  take  place.  At  last,  however,  Lettie 
flung  herself  down  with  a  sigh,  saying  she  was  tired. 

"  Come  into  the  dining-room  and  have  a  cup  of 
tea,"  said  mother.  "  I  told  Rebecca  to  mash  when 
you  came  in." 

"  All  right.  Leslie's  coming  up  later  on,  I  believe 
— about  half  past  eight,  he  said.  Should  I  show  him 
what  I've  bought  ?  " 

"  There's  nothing  there  for  a  man  to  see." 

"  I  shall  have  to  change  my  dress,  and  I'm  sure 
I  don't  want  the  fag.  Rebecca,  just  go  and  look  at 
the  things  I've  bought — in  the  other  room — and, 
Becky,  fold  them  up  for  me,  will  you,  and  put  them 
on  my  bed  ?  " 

As  soon  as  she'd  gone  out,  Lettie  said : 

"  She'll  enjoy  doing  it,  won't  she,  mother,  they're 
so  nice !     Do  you  think  I  need  dress,  mother  ?  " 

"  Please  yourself — do  as  you  wish." 

"  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to ;  he  doesn't  like  blouses 
and  skirts  of  an  evening  he  says;  he  hates  the  belt. 
I'll  wear  that  old  cream  cashmere ;  it  looks  nice  now 
I've  put  that  new  lace  on  it.  Don't  those  violets 
smell  nice  ? — who  got  them  ?  " 

"  Cyril  brought  them  in." 

"  George  sent  them  you,"  said  L 

"  Well,  I'll  just  run  up  and  take  my  dress  off. 
Why  are  we  troubled  with  men !  " 


THE    INSPIRED   MOMENTS   251 

"  It's  a  trouble  you  like  well  enough,"  said  mother. 

"  Oh,  do  I  ?  such  a  bother !  "  and  she  ran  up- 
stairs. 

The  sun  was  red  behind  Highclose.  I  kneeled  in 
the  window  seat  and  smiled  at  Fate  and  at  people 
who  imagine  that  strange  states  are  near  to  the  inner 
realities.  The  sun  went  straight  down  behind  the 
cedar  trees,  deliberately  and,  it  seemed  as  I  watched, 
swiftly  lowered  itself  behind  the  trees,  behind  the 
rim  of  the  hill. 

"  I  must  go,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  and  tell  him  she 
will  not  come." 

Yet  I  fidgeted  about  the  room,  loth  to  depart. 
Lettie  came  down,  dressed  in  white — or  cream — cut 
low  round  the  neck.  She  looked  very  delightful  and 
fresh  again,  with  a  sparkle  of  the  afternoon's  excite- 
ment still. 

"  I'll  put  some  of  these  violets  on  me,"  she  said, 
glancing  at  herself  in  the  mirror,  and  then  taking  the 
flowers  from  their  water,  she  dried  them,  and  fas- 
tened them  among  her  lace. 

"  Don't  Lettie  and  I  look  nice  to-night  ?  "  she  said 
smiling,  glancing  from  me  to  her  reflection  which 
was  like  a  light  in  the  dusky  room. 

"  That  reminds  me,"  I  said,  "  George  Saxton 
wanted  to  see  you  this  evening." 

"What  ever  for?" 

"  I  don't  know.  They've  got  notice  to  leave  their 
farm,  and  I  think  he  feels  a  bit  sentimental." 

"  Oh,  well — is  he  coming  here  ?  " 

"  He  said  would  you  go  just  a  little  way  in  the 
wood  to  meet  him." 

"  Did  he !    Oh,  indeed !    Well,  of  course  I  can't." 


252      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  Of  course  not — if  you  won't.  They're  his  violets 
you're  wearing  by  the  way." 

"  Are  they — let  them  stay,  it  makes  no  difference. 
But  whatever  did  he  want  to  see  me  for  ? " 

"  I  couldn't  say,  I  assure  you." 

She  glanced  at  herself  in  the  mirror,  and  then  at 
the  clock. 

"  Let's  see,"  she  remarked,  "  it's  only  a  quarter 
to  eight.  Three  quarters  of  an  hour — !  But  what 
can  he  want  me  for? — I  never  knew  anything 
like  it." 

"  Startling,  isn't  it !  "  I  observed  satirically. 

"  Yes,"  she  glanced  at  herself  in  the  mirror  : 

"  I  can't  go  out  like  this." 

"  All  right,  you  can't  then." 

"  Besides — it's  nearly  dark,  it  will  be  too  dark 
to  see  in  the  wood,  won't  it  ?  " 

"  It  will  directly." 

"  Well,  I'll  just  go  to  the  end  of  the  garden,  for 
one  moment — run  and  fetch  that  silk  shawl  out  of 
my  wardrobe — be  quick,  while  it's  light." 

I  ran  and  brought  the  wrap.  She  arranged  it 
carefully  over  her  head. 

We  went  out,  down  the  garden  path.  Lettie  held 
her  skirts  carefully  gathered  from  the  ground.  A 
nightingale  began  to  sing  in  the  twilight ;  we  stepped 
along  in  silence  as  far  as  the  rhododendron  bushes, 
now  in  rosy  bud. 

"  I  cannot  go  into  the  wood,"  she  said. 

"  Come  to  the  top  of  the  riding  " — and  we  went 
round  the  dark  bushes. 

George  was  waiting.  I  saw  at  once  he  was  half 
distrustful  of  himself  now.    Lettie  dropped  her  skirts 


THE    INSPIRED    MOMENTS   253 

and  trailed  towards  him.  He  stood  awkwardly 
awaiting  her,  conscious  of  the  clownishness  of  his 
appearance.  She  held  out  her  hand  with  something 
of  a  grand  air: 

"  See,"  she  said,  "  I  have  come." 

"  Yes — I  thought  you  wouldn't — perhaps  " — he 
looked  at  her,  and  suddenly  gained  courage : 

"  You  have  been  putting  white  on — you,  you  do 
look  nice — though  not  like " 

"What?— Who  else?" 

"  Nobody  else — only  I — well  I'd — I'd  thought 
about  it  different — like  some  pictures." 

She  smiled  with  a  gentle  radiance,  and  asked  in- 
dulgently, "  And  how  was  I  different  ?  " 

"  Not  all  that  soft  stuff — plainer." 

"  But  don't  I  look  very  nice  with  all  this  soft  stuff, 
as  you  call  it  ?  " — and  she  shook  the  silk  away  from 
her  smiles. 

"  Oh,  yes — better  than  those  naked  lines." 

"  You  are  quaint  to-night — what  did  you  want  me 
for — to  say  good-bye  ?  " 

"Good-bye?" 

"  Yes — you're  going  away,  Cyril  tells  me.  I'm 
very  sorry — fancy  horrid  strangers  at  the  Mill !  But 
then  I  shall  be  gone  away  soon,  too.  We  are  all  go- 
ing you  see,  now  we've  grown  up," — she  kept  hold 
of  my  arm. 

"  Yes." 

"  And  where  will  you  go — Canada  ?  You'll  settle 
there  and  be  quite  a  patriarch,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  You  are  not  really  sorry  to  go,  are  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  glad." 


254      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  Glad  to  go  away  from  us  all." 

"  I  suppose  so — since  I  must." 

"  Ah,  Fate — Fate !  It  separates  you  whether  you 
want  it  or  not." 

"What?" 

"  Why,  you  see,  you  have  to  leave*  I  mustn't  stay 
out  here — it  is  growing  chilly.  How  soon  are  you 
going?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

" Not  soon  then?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Then  I  may  see  you  again  ? " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  shall.  Well,  I  must  go.  Shall  I  say 
good-hye  now? — that  was  what  you  wanted,  was  it 
not?" 

"  To  say  good-bye  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  No — it    wasn't — I    wanted,    I    wanted    to    ask 


you " 

"  What  ?  "  she  cried. 

"  You  don't  know,  Lettie,  now  the  old  life's  gone, 
everything — how  I  want  you — to  set  out  with — it's 
like  beginning  life,  and  I  want  you." 

"  But  what  could  I  do — I  could  only  hinder — 
what  help  should  I  be?"      . 

"  I  should  feel  as  if  my  mind  was  made  up — as 
if  I  could  do  something  clearly.  Now  it's  all  hazy — 
not  knowing  what  to  do  next." 

"  And  if— if  you  had— what  then  ?  " 

"  If  I  had  you  I  could  go  straight  on." 

"Where?" 

"  Oh — I  should  take  a  farm  in  Canada " 


THE    INSPIRED    MOMENTS    255 

"Well,  wouldn't  it  be  better  to  get  it  first  and 
make  sure ?  " 

"  I  have  no  money." 

"  Oh ! — so  you  wanted  me ? " 

"  I  only  wanted  you,  I  only  wanted  you.  I  would 
have  given  you " 

"What?" 

"  You'd  have  me — you'd  have  all  me,  and  every- 
thing you  wanted." 

"  That  I  paid  for — a  good  bargain !  No,  oh  no, 
George,  I  beg  your  pardon.  This  is  one  of  my  flip- 
pant nights.  I  don't  mean  it  like  that.  But  you 
know  it's  impossible — look  how  I'm  fixed — it  is  im- 
possible, isn't  it  now." 

"  I  suppose  it  is." 

"  You  know  it  is — Look  at  me  now,  and  say  if 
it's  not  impossible — a  farmer's  wife — with  you  in 
Canada." 

"  Yes — I  didn't  expect  you  like  that.  Yes,  I  see 
it  is  impossible.  But  I'd  thought  about  it,  and  felt 
as  if  I  must  have  you.  Should  have  you  .  .  .  Yes, 
it  doesn't  do  to  go  on  dreaming.  I  think  it's  the  first 
time,  and  it'll  be  the  last.  Yes,  it  is  impossible. 
Now  I  have  made  up  my  mind." 

"  And  what  will  you  do?  " 

"  I  shall  not  go  to  Canada." 

"  Oh,  you  must  not — you  must  not  do  anvthing 
rash." 

"  No — I  shall  get  married." 

"  You  will  %  Oh,  I  am  glad.  I  thought — you — 
you  were  too  fond — .  But  you're  not — of  yourself 
I  meant.     I  am  so  glad.     Yes — do  marry !  " 

"  Well,  I  shall — since  you  are " 


256      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  Yes,"  said  Lettie.  "  It  is  best.  But  I  thought 
that  you "  she  smiled  at  him  in  sad  reproach. 

"  Did  you  think  so  ?  "  he  replied,  smiling  gravely. 

"  Yes,"  she  whispered.  They  stood  looking  at  one 
another. 

He  made  an  impulsive  movement  towards  her. 
She,  however,  drew  back  slightly,  checking  him. 

"  Well — I  shall  see  you  again  sometime — so 
good-bye,"  he  said,  putting  out  his  hand. 

We  heard  a  foot  crunching  on  the  gravel.  Leslie 
halted  at  the  top  of  the  riding.  Lettie,  hearing  him, 
relaxed  into  a  kind  of  feline  graciousness,  and  said 
to  George: 

"  I  am  so  sorry  you  are  going  to  leave — it  breaks 
the    old    life    up.      You    said    I    would    see    you 

again "     She  left  her  hand  in  his  a  moment  or 

two. 

"  Yes,"  George  replied.  "  Good-night " — and  he 
turned  away.  She  stood  for  a  moment  in  the  same 
drooping,  graceful  attitude  watching  him,  then  she 
turned  round  slowly.  She  seemed  hardly  to  notice 
Leslie. 

"  Who  was  that  you  were  talking  to  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  He  has  gone  now,"  she  replied  irrelevantly,  as  if 
even  then  she  seemed  hardly  to  realise  it. 

"  It  appears  to  upset  you — his  going — who  is 
it?" 

"He!— Oh,— why,  it's  George  Saxton." 

"Oh,  him!" 

"  Yes." 

"What  did  he  want?" 

"  Eh  ?     What  did  he  want  ?     Oh,  nothing." 

"  A  mere  trysting — in  the  interim,  eh !  " — he  said 


THE    INSPIRED   MOMENTS    257 

this  laughing,  generously  passing  off  his  annoyance 
in  a  jest. 

"  I  feel  so  sorry,"  she  said. 

"What  for?" 

u  Oh — don't  let  us  talk  about  him — talk  about 
something  else.     I  can't  bear  to  talk  about — him." 

"  All  right,"  he  replied — and  after  an  awkward 
little  pause.  "  What  sort  of  a  time  had  you  in  Not- 
tingham ? " 

"  Oh,  a  fine  time." 

"  You'll  enjoy  yourself  in  the  shops  between  now 
and — July.  Some  time  I'll  go  with  you  and  see 
them." 

"  Very  well." 

"  That  sounds  as  if  you  don't  want  me  to  go.  Am 
I  already  in  the  way  on  a  shopping  expedition,  like 
an  old  husband  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  you  would  be." 

"  That's  nice  of  you !     Why  ?  " 

*  Oh,  I  don't  know." 

"  Yes  you  do." 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  you'd  hang  about." 

"  I'm  much  too  well  brought  up." 

"  Kebecca  has  lighted  the  hall  lamp." 

"  Yes,  it's  grown  quite  dark.  I  was  here  early. 
You  never  gave  me  a  good  word  for  it." 

"  I  didn't  notice.  There's  a  light  in  the  dining- 
room,  we'll  go  there." 

They  went  into  the  dining-room.  She  stood  by  the 
piano  and  carefully  took  off  the  wrap.  Then  she 
wandered  listlessly  about  the  room  for  a  minute. 

"  Aren't  you  coming  to  sit  down  ?  "  he  said,  point- 
ing to  the  seat  on  the  couch  beside  him. 


258       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  Not  just  now,"  she  said,  trailing  aimlessly  to 
the  piano.  She  sat  down  and  began  to  play  at  ran- 
dom, from  memory.  Then  she  did  that  most  irritat- 
ing thing — played  accompaniments  to  songs,  with 
snatches  of  the  air  where  the  voice  should  have  pre- 
dominated. 

"  I  say  Lettie,  .  .  ."  he  interrupted  after  a  time. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  continuing  to  play. 

"  It's  not  very  interesting.  ..." 

"  No  ?  " — she  continued  to  play. 

"  Nor  very  amusing.  .  .  ." 

She  did  not  answer.  He  bore  it  for  a  little  time 
longer,  then  he  said : 

"  How  much  longer  is  it  going  to  last,  Lettie  ?  " 

"  What  ? " 

"  That  sort  of  business.  ..." 

"  The  piano  ? — I'll  stop  playing  if  you  don't  like 
it." 

She  did  not,  however,  cease. 

"  Yes — and  all  this  dry  business." 

"  I  don't  understand." 

"  Don't  you  ? — you  make  me/' 

There  she  went  on,  tinkling  away  at :  "  If  I  built 
a  world  for  you,  dear." 

"  I  say,  stop  it,  do !  "  he  cried. 

She  tinkled  to  the  end  of  the  verse,  and  very  slowly 
closed  the  piano. 

"  Come  on — come  and  sit  down,"  he  said. 

"  No,  I  don't  want  to. — I'd  rather  have  gone  on 
playing." 

"  Go  on  with  your  damned  playing  then,  and  I'll 
go  where  there's  more  interest." 

"  You  ought  to  like  it." 


THE    INSPIRED   MOMENTS    259 

He  did  not  answer,  so  she  turned  slowly  round  on 
the  stool,  opened  the  piano,  and  laid  her  fingers  on 
the  keys.  At  the  sound  of  the  chord  he  started  up, 
saying :  "  Then  I'm  going." 

"  It's  very  early — why  ?  "  she  said,  through  the 
calm  jingle  of  "  Meine  Euh  is  hin " 

He  stood  biting  his  lips.  Then  he  made  one  more 
appeal. 

"Lettie!" 

"  Yes  ? " 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  leave  off — and  be — ami- 
able?" 

"Amiable?" 

"  You  are  a  jolly  torment.  What's  upset  you 
now  ? " 

"  Nay,  it's  not  I  who  am  upset." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it — what  do  you  call  yourself  ?  " 

"I?— nothing." 

"  Oh,  well,  I'm  going  then." 

"  Must  you  ? — so  early  to-night  ?  " 

He  did  not  go,  and  she  played  more  and  more 
softly,  languidly,  aimlessly.  Once  she  lifted  her 
head  to  speak,  but  did  not  say  anything. 

"  Look  here !  "  he  ejaculated  all  at  once,  so  that 
she  started,  and  jarred  the  piano,  "  What  do  you 
mean  by  it  ?  " 

She  jingled  leisurely  a  few  seconds  before  answer- 
ing, then  she  replied : 

"  What  a  worry  you  are !  " 

"  I  suppose  you  want  me  out  of  the  way  while  you 
sentimentalise  over  that  milkman.  You  needn't 
bother.  You  can  do  it  while  I'm  here.  Or 
I'll  go  and  leave  you  in  peace.     I'll  go  and  call 


260       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

him  back  for  you,  if  you  likB — if  that's  what  you 
want " 

She  turned  on  the  piano  stool  slowly  and  looked 
at  him,  smiling  faintly. 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you !  "  she  said. 

He  clenched  his  fists  and  grinned  with  rage. 

"  You  tantalising  little "  he  began,  lifting  his 

fists  expressively.  She  smiled.  Then  he  swung 
round,  knocked  several  hats  flying  off  the  stand  in 
the  hall,  slammed  the  door,  and  was  gone. 

Lettie  continued  to  play  for  some  time,  after  which 
she  went  up  to  her  own  room. 

Leslie  did  not  return  to  us  the  next  day,  nor  the 
day  after.  The  first  day  Marie  came  and  told  us  he 
had  gone  away  to  Yorkshire  to  see  about  the  new 
mines  that  were  being  sunk  there,  and  was  likely  to 
be  absent  for  a  week  or  so.  These  business  visits 
to  the  north  were  rather  frequent.  The  firm,  of 
which  Mr.  Tempest  was  director  and  chief  share- 
holder, were  opening  important  new  mines  in  the 
other  county,  as  the  seams  at  home  were  becoming 
exhausted  or  unprofitable.  It  was  proposed  that  Les- 
lie should  live  in  Yorkshire  when  he  was  married, 
to  superintend  the  new  workings.  He  at  first  re- 
jected the  idea,  but  he  seemed  later  to  approve  of  it 
more. 

During  the  time  he  was  away  Lettie  was  moody 
and  cross-tempered.  She  did  not  mention  George  nor 
the  mill ;  indeed,  she  preserved  her  best,  most  haughty 
and  ladylike  manner. 

On  the  evening  of  the  fourth  day  of  Leslie's  ab- 
sence we  were  out  in  the  garden.     The  trees  were 


THE    INSPIRED    MOMENTS   261 

"  uttering  joyous  leaves."  My  mother  was  in  the 
midst  of  her  garden,  lifting  the  dusky  faces  of  the 
auriculas  to  look  at  the  velvet  lips,  or  tenderly  tak- 
ing a  young  weed  from  the  black  soil.  The  thrushes 
were  calling  and  clamouring  all  round.  The  japonica 
flamed  on  the  wall  as  the  light  grew  thicker ;  the  tas- 
sels of  white  cherry-blossom  swung  gently  in  the 
breeze. 

"  What  shall  I  do,  mother  ? "  said  Lettie,  as  she 
wandered  across  the  grass  to  pick  at  the  japonica 
flowers.  "What  shall  I  do? — there's  nothing  to 
do." 

"  Well,  my  girl — what  do  you  want  to  do  ?  You 
have  been  moping  about  all  day — go  and  see  some- 
body." 

"  It's  such  a  long  way  to  Eberwich." 

"  Is  it  ?     Then  go  somewhere  nearer." 

Lettie  fretted  about  with  restless,  petulant  inde- 
cision. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  she  said,  "  And  I 
feel  as  if  I  might  just  as  well  never  have  lived  at 
all  as  waste  days  like  this.  I  wish  we  weren't  buried 
in  this  dead  little  hole — I  wish  we  were  near  the  town 
— it's  hateful  having  to  depend  on  about  two  or 
three  folk  for  your — your — your  pleasure  in  life." 

"  I  can't  help  it,  my  dear — you  must  do  something 
for  yourself." 

"  And  what  can  I  do  ? — I  can  do  nothing." 

"  Then  I'd  go  to  bed." 

"  That  I  won't — with  the  dead  weight  of  a  wasted 
day  on  me.     I  feel  as  if  I'd  do  something  desperate." 

"  Very  well,  then,"  said  mother,  "  do  it,  and  have 
done." 


262      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  Oh,    it's    no    good    talking    to    you — I    don't 

want "     She  turned  away,  went  to  the  lauresti- 

nus,  and  began  pulling  off  it  the  long  red  berries.  I 
expected  she  would  fret  the  evening  wastefully  away. 
I  noticed  all  at  once  that  she  stood  still.  It  was  the 
noise  of  a  motor-car  running  rapidly  down  the  hill 
towards  Eethermere — a  light,  quick-clicking  sound. 
I  listened  also.  I  could  feel  the  swinging  drop  of  the 
car  as  it  came  down  the  leaps  of  the  hill.  We  could 
see  the  dust  trail  up  among  the  trees.  Lettie  raised 
her  head  and  listened  expectantly.  The  car  rushed 
along  the  edge  of  Nethermere — then  there  was  the 
jar  of  brakes,  as  the  machine  slowed  down  and 
stopped.  In  a  moment  with  a  quick  flutter  of  sound, 
it  was  passing  the  lodge-gates  and  whirling  up  the 
drive,  through  the  wood,  to  us.  Lettie  stood  with 
flushed  cheeks  and  brightened  eyes.  She  went 
towards  the  bushes  that  shut  off  the  lawn  from  the 
gravelled  space  in  front  of  the  house,  watching.  A 
car  came  racing  through  the  trees.  It  was  the  small 
car  Leslie  used  on  the  firm's  business — now  it  was 
white  with  dust.  Leslie  suddenly  put  on  the  brakes, 
and  tore  to  a  standstill  in  front  of  the  house.  He 
stepped  to  the  ground.  There  he  staggered  a  little, 
being  giddy  and  cramped  with  the  long  drive.  His 
motor- jacket  and  cap  were  thick  with  dust. 

Lettie  called  to  him,  "  Leslie !  " — and  flew  down 
to  him.  He  took  her  into  his  arms,  and  clouds  of 
dust  rose  round  her.  He  kissed  her,  and  they  stood 
perfectly  still  for  a  moment.  She  looked  up  into  his 
face — then  she  disengaged  her  arms  to  take  off  his 
disfiguring  motor-spectacles.  After  she  had  looked 
at  him  a  moment,  tenderly,  she  kissed  him  again. 


THE    INSPIRED    MOMENTS  263 

He  loosened  his  hold  of  her,  and  she  said,  in  a  voice 
full  of  tenderness: 

"  You  are  trembling,  dear." 

"  It's  the  ride.     Fve  never  stopped." 

Without  further  words  she  took  him  into  the 
house. 

"  How  pale  you  are — see,  lie  on  the  couch — never 
mind  the  dust.  All  right,  I'll  find  you  a  coat  of 
Cyril's.  O,  mother,  he's  come  all  those  miles  in  the 
car  without  stopping — make  him  lie  down." 

She  ran  and  brought  him  a  jacket,  and  put  the 
cushions  round,  and  made  him  lie  on  the  couch. 
Then  she  took  off  his  boots  and  put  slippers  on  his 
feet.  He  lay  watching  her  all  the  time ;  he  was  white 
with  fatigue  and  excitement. 

"  I  wonder  if  I  shall  be  had  up  for  scorching — I 
can  feel  the  road  coming  at  me  yet,"  he  said. 

"  Why  were  you  so  headlong  ?  " 

"I  felt  as  if  I  should  go  wild  if  I  didn't  come — if 
I  didn't  rush.  I  didn't  know  how  you  might  have 
taken  me,  Lettie — when  I  said — what  I  did." 

She  smiled  gently  at  him,  and  he  lay  resting,  re- 
covering, looking  at  her. 

"  It's  a  wonder  I  haven't  done  something  desper- 
ate— I've  been  half  mad  since  I  said — Oh,  Lettie,  I 
was  a  damned  fool  and  a  wretch — I  could  have  torn 
myself  in  two.  I've  done  nothing  but  curse  and  rage 
at  myself  ever  since.  I  feel  as  if  I'd  just  come  up 
out  of  hell.  You  don't  know  how  thankful  I  am, 
Lettie,  that  you've  not — oh — turned  against  me  for 
what  I  said." 

She  went  to  him  and  sat  down  by  him,  smoothing 
his  hair  from  his  forehead,  kissing  him,  her  attitude 


264       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

tender,  suggesting  tears,  her  movements  impulsive, 
as  if  with  a  self-reproach  she  would  not  acknowl- 
edge, but  which  she  must  silence  with  lavish  tender- 
ness. He  drew  her  to  him,  and  they  remained  quiet 
for  some  time,  till  it  grew  dark. 

The  noise  of  my  mother  stirring  in  the  next  room 
disturbed  them.  Lettie  rose,  and  he  also  got  up  from 
the  couch. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  have  to  go  home 
and  get  bathed  and  dressed — though,"  he  added  in 
tones  which  made  it  clear  he  did  not  want  to  go,  "  I 
shall  have  to  get  back  in  the  morning — I  don't  know 
what  they'll  say." 

"  At  any  rate,"  she  said,  "  You  could  wash 
here " 

"  But  I  must  get  out  of  these  clotheB — and  I 
want  a  bath." 

"  You  could — you  might  have  some  of  Cyril's 
clothes — and  the  water's  hot.  I  know.  At  all  events, 
you  can  stay  to  supper " 

"  If  I'm  going  I  shall  have  to  go  soon — or  they'd 
not  like  it,  if  I  go  in  late; — they  have  no  idea  I've 
come; — they  don't  expect  me  till  next  Monday  or 
Tuesday " 

"  Perhaps  you  could  stay  here — and  they  needn't 
know." 

They  looked  at  each  other  with  wide,  smiling  eyes 
— like  children  on  the  brink  of  a  stolen  pleasure. 

"  Oh,  but  what  would  your  mother  think ! — no, 
I'll  go." 

"  She  won't  mind  a  bit." 

«  Oh,  but " 

"  I'll  ask  her." 


THE    INSPIRED   MOMENTS    265 

He  wanted  to  stay  far  more  than  she  wished  it, 
so  it  was  she  who  put  down  his  opposition  and  tri- 
umphed. 

My  mother  lifted  her  eyebrows,  and  said  very 
quietly : 

"  He'd  better  go  home — and  be  straight." 

"  But  look  how  he'd  feel — he'd  have  to  tell  them 
.  .  .  and  how  would  he  feel!  It's  really  my  fault, 
in  the  end.  Don't  be  piggling  and  mean  and  Grundy- 
ish,  Matouchka." 

"  It  is  neither  meanness  nor  grundyishness " 

"  Oh,  Ydgrun,  Ydgrun !  "  exclaimed  Lettie, 

ironically. 

"  He  may  certainly  stay  if  he  likes,"  said  mother, 
slightly  nettled  at  Lettie's  gibe. 

"  All  right,  Mutterchen — and  be  a  sweetling,  do !  " 

Lettie  went  out  a  little  impatient  at  my  mother's 
unwillingness,  but  Leslie  stayed,  nevertheless. 

In  a  few  moments  Lettie  was  up  in  the  spare  bed- 
room, arranging  and  adorning,  and  Rebecca  was  run- 
ning with  hot-water  bottles,  and  hurrying  down  with 
clean  bed-clothes.  Lettie  hastily  appropriated  my 
best  brushes — which  she  had  given  me — and  took  the 
suit  of  pajamas  of  the  thinnest,  finest  flannel — and 
discovered  a  new  tooth-brush — and  made  selections 
from  my  skirts  and  handkerchiefs  and  underclothing 
— and  directed  me  which  suit  to  lend  him.  Alto- 
gether I  was  astonished,  and  perhaps  a  trifle  annoyed, 
at  her  extraordinary  thoughtfulness  and  solicitude. 

He  came  down  to  supper,  bathed,  brushed,  and 
radiant.  He  ate  heartily  and  seemed  to  emanate  a 
warmth  of  physical  comfort  and  pleasure.  The  col- 
our was  flushed  again  into  his  face,  and  he  carried 


Zm      THE    WHITE   PEACOCK 

his  body  with  the  old  independent,  assertive  air.  I 
have  never  known  the  time  when  he  looked  hand- 
somer, when  he  was  more  attractive.  There  was  a 
certain  warmth  about  him,  a  certain  glow  that  en- 
hanced his  words,  his  laughter,  his  movements;  he 
was  the  predominant  person,  and  we  felt  a  pleasure 
in  his  mere  proximity.  My  mother,  however,  could 
not  quite  get  rid  of  her  stiffness,  and  soon  after  sup- 
per she  rose,  saying  she  would  finish  her  letter  in 
the  next  room,  bidding  him  good-night,  as  she  would 
probably  not  see  him  again.  The  cloud  of  this  little 
coolness  was  the  thinnest  and  most  transitory.  He 
talked  and  laughed  more  gaily  than  ever,  and  was 
ostentatious  in  his  movements,  throwing  back  his 
head,  taking  little  attitudes  which  displayed  the 
broad  firmness  of  his  breast,  the  grace  of  his  well- 
trained  physique.  I  left  them  at  the  piano;  he  was 
sitting  pretending  to  play,  and  looking  up  all  the 
while  at  her,  who  stood  with  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder. 

In  the  morning  he  was  up  early,  by  six  o'clock 
downstairs  and  attending  to  the  car.  When  I  got 
down  I  found  him  very  busy,  and  very  quiet. 

"  I  know  I'm  a  beastly  nuisance,"  he  said,  "  but 
I  must  get  off  early." 

Kebecca  came  and  prepared  breakfast,  which  we 
two  ate  alone.  He  was  remarkably  dull  and  word- 
less. 

"  It's  a  wonder  Lettie  hasn't  got  up  to  have  break- 
fast with  you — she's  such  a  one  for  raving  about 
the  perfection  of  the  early  morning — it's  purity  and 
promises  and  so  forth,"  I  said. 


THE    INSPIRED    MOMENTS  267 

He  broke  his  bread  nervously,  and  drank  some 
coffee  as  if  he  were  agitated,  making  noises  in  his 
throat  as  he  swallowed. 

"  It's  too  early  for  her,  I  should  think,"  he  re- 
plied, wiping  his  moustache  hurriedly.  Yet  he 
seemed  to  listen  for  her.  Lettie's  bedroom  was  over 
the  study,  where  Kebecca  had  laid  breakfast,  and  he 
listened  now  and  again,  holding  his  knife  and  fork 
suspended  in  their  action.  Then  he  went  on  with 
his  meal  again. 

When  he  was  laying  down  his  serviette,  the  door 
opened.  He  pulled  himself  together,  and  turned 
round  sharply.  It  was  mother.  When  she  spoke  to 
him,  his  face  twitched  with  a  little  frown,  half  of 
relief,  half  of  disappointment. 

"  I  must  be  going  now,"  he  said — "  thank  you 
very  much — Mother." 

"  You  are  a  harum-scarum  boy.  I  wonder  why 
Lettie  doesn't  come  down.    I  know  she  is  up." 

"  Yes,"  he  replied.  "  Yes,  I've  heard  her.  Per- 
haps she  is  dressing.     I  must  get  off." 

"  I'll  call  her." 

"  Eo — don't  bother  her — she'd  come  if  she 
wanted " 

But  mother  had  called  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  Lettie,  Lettie — he's  going." 

"  All  right,"  said  Lettie,  and  in  another  minute 
she  came  downstairs.  She  was  dressed  in  dark, 
severe  stuff,  and  she  was  somewhat  pale.  She  did 
not  look  at  any  of  us,  but  turned  her  eyes  aside. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said  to  him,  offering  him  her 
cheek.  He  kissed  her,  murmuring:  "Good-bye — 
my  love." 


268       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

He  stood  in  the  doorway  a  moment,  looking  at  her 
with  beseeching  eyes.  She  kept  her  face  half  averted, 
and  would  not  look  at  him,  but  stood  pale  and  cold, 
biting  her  underlip.  He  turned  sharply  away  with 
a  motion  of  keen  disappointment,  set  the  engines 
of  the  car  into  action,  mounted,  and  drove  quickly 
away. 

Lettie  stood  pale  and  inscrutable  for  some  mo- 
ments. Then  she  went  in  to  breakfast  and  sat  toy- 
ing with  her  food,  keeping  her  head  bent  down,  her 
face  hidden. 

In  less  than  an  hour  he  was  back  again,  saying 
he  had  left  something  behind.  He  ran  upstairs,  and 
then,  hesitating,  went  into  the  room  where  Lettie  was 
still  sitting  at  table. 

"  I  had  to  come  back,"  he  said. 

She  lifted  her  face  towards  him,  but  kept  her  eyes 
averted,  looking  out  of  the  window.    She  was  flushed. 

"  What  had  you  forgotten  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I'd  left  my  cigarette  case,"  he  replied. 

There  was  an  awkward  silence. 

"  But  I  shall  have  to  be  getting  off,"  he  added. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  you  will,"  she  replied. 

After  another  pause,  he  asked: 

"  Won't  you  just  walk  down  the  path  with  me  ?  " 

She  rose  without  answering.  He  took  a  shawl  and 
put  it  round  her  carefully.  She  merely  allowed  him. 
They  walked  in  silence  down  the  garden. 

"  You — are  you — are  you  angry  with  me  ?  "  he 
faltered. 

Tears  suddenly  came  to  her  eyes. 

"  What  did  you  come  back  for  ?  "  she  said,  avert- 
ing her  face  from  him.    He  looked  at  her. 


THE    INSPIRED   MOMENTS    269 

"  I  knew  you  were  angry — and — ,"  he  hesitated. 

"  Why  didn't  you  go  away  ?  "  she  said  impulsively. 
He  hung  his  head  and  was  silent. 

"  I  don't  see  why — why  it  should  make  trouble 
between  us,  Lettie,"  he  faltered.  She  made  a  swift 
gesture  of  repulsion,  whereupon,  catching  sight  of 
her  hand,  she  hid  it  swiftly  against  her  skirt  again. 

"  You  make  my  hands — my  very  hands  disclaim 
me,"  she  struggled  to  say. 

He  looked  at  her  clenched  fist  pressed  against  the 
folds  of  her  dress. 

"  But — ,"  he  began,  much  troubled. 

"  I  tell  you,  I  can't  bear  the  sight  of  my  own 
hands,"  she  said,  in  low,  passionate  tones. 

"  But  surely,  Lettie,  there's  no  need — if  you  love 
me " 

She  seemed  to  wince.  He  waited,  puzzled  and 
miserable. 

"  And  we're  going  to  be  married,  aren't  we  ?  "  he 
resumed,  looking  pleadingly  at  her. 

She  stirred,  and  exclaimed: 

"  Oh,  why  don't  you  go  away  ?  What  did  you 
come  back  for  ?  " 

"  You'll  kiss  me  before  I  go  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  stood  with  averted  face,  and  did  not  reply. 
His  forehead  was  twitching  in  a  puzzled  frown. 

"  Lettie !  "  he  said. 

She  did  not  move  or  answer,  but  remained  with 
her  face  turned  full  away,  so  that  he  could  see  only 
the  contour  of  her  cheek.  After  waiting  awhile,  he 
flushed,  turned  swiftly  and  set  his  machine  rattling. 
In  a  moment  he  was  racing  between  the  trees. 


CHAPTEK   IV 


It  was  the  Sunday  after  Leslie's  visit.  We  had  had 
a  wretched  week,  with  everybody  mute  and  unhappy. 

Though  Spring  had  come,  none  of  us  saw  it. 
Afterwards  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  had  seen  all  the 
ranks  of  poplars  suddenly  bursten  into  a  dark  crim- 
son glow,  with  a  flutter  of  blood-red  where  the  sun 
came  through  the  leaves ;  that  I  had  found  high  cra- 
dles where  the  swan's  eggs  lay  by  the  waterside ;  that 
I  had  seen  the  daffodils  leaning  from  the  moss-grown 
wooden  walls  of  the  boat-house,  and  all,  moss,  daffo- 
dils, water,  scattered  with  the  pink  scarves  from  the 
elm  buds ;  that  I  had  broken  the  half -spread  fans  of 
the  sycamore,  and  had  watched  the  white  cloud  of 
sloe-blossom  go  silver  grey  against  the  evening  sky: 
but  I  had  not  perceived  it,  and  I  had  not  any  vivid 
spring-pictures  left  from  the  neglected  week. 

It  was  Sunday  evening,  just  after  tea,  when  Lettie 
suddenly  said  to  me: 

"  Come  with  me  down  to  Strelley  Mill." 

I  was  astonished,  but  I  obeyed  unquestioningly. 

On  the  threshold  we  heard  a  chattering  of  girls, 
and  immediately  Alice's  voice  greeted  us: 

"  Hello,  Sybil,  love !  Hello,  Lettie !  Come  on, 
here's  a  gathering  of  the  goddesses.  Come  on,  you 
just  make  us  right.     You're  Juno,  and  here's  Meg, 

270 


KISS  WHEN  RIPE  FOR  TEARS     271 

she's  Venus,  and  I'm — here,  somebody,  who  am  I, 
tell  us  quick — did  you  say  Minerva,  Sybil  dear? 
Well  you  ought,  then !  Now  Paris,  hurry  up.  He's 
putting  his  Sunday  clothes  on  to  take  us  a  walk — 
Laws,  what  a  time  it  takes  him!  Get  your  blushes 
ready,  Meg — now  Lettie,  look  haughty,  and  I'll  look 
wise.  I  wonder  if  he  wants  me  to  go  and  tie  his  tie. 
Oh,  Glory — where  on  earth  did  you  get  that  anti- 
macassar ? " 

"  In  Nottingham — don't  you  like  it  ?  "  said  George 
referring  to  his  tie.  "  Hello,  Lettie — have  you 
come  I  " 

"  Yes,  it's  a  gathering  of  the  goddesses.  Have 
you  that  apple  I     If  so,  hand  it  over,"  said  Alice. 

"What  apple?" 

"  Oh,  Lum,  his  education !  Paris's  apple — Can't 
you  see  we've  come  to  be  chosen  ?  " 

"  Oh,  well — I  haven't  got  any  apple — I've  eaten 
mine." 

"  Isn't  he  flat — he's  like  boiling  magnesia  that's 
done  boiling  for  a  week.  Are  you  going  to  take  us 
all  to  church  then  ?  " 

"  If  you  like." 

"  Come  on,  then.  Where's  the  Abode  of  Love  ? 
Look  at  Lettie  looking  shocked.  Awfully  sorry,  old 
girl — thought  love  agreed  with  you." 

"  Did  you  say  love  ?  "  inquired  George. 

"  Yes,  I  did ;  didn't  I,  Meg  ?  And  you  say  'Love' 
as  well,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  is,"  laughed  Meg,  who  was 
very  red  and  rather  bewildered. 

"  '  Amor  est  titillatio  ' — {  Love  is  a  tickling,' — 
there— that's  it,  isn't  it,  Sybil  ?  " 


272       THE    WHITE   PEACOCK 

"  How  should  I  know." 

"  If  course  not,  old  fellow.  Leave  it  to  the  girls. 
See  how  knowing  Lettie  looks — and,  laws,  Lettie, 
you  are  solemn." 

"  It's  love,"  suggested  George,  over  his  new  neck- 
tie. 

"  I'll  bet  it  is  '  degustasse  sat  est ' — ain't  it,  Let- 
tie  ?  ■  One  lick's  enough ' — '  and  damned  be  he  that 
first  cries :  Hold,  enough ! ' — Which  one  do  you 
like?  But  are  you  going  to  take  us  to  church, 
Georgie,  darling — one  by  one,  or  all  at  once  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do,  Meg  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind." 

"  And  do  you  mind,  Lettie  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  going  to  church." 

"  Let's  go  a  walk  somewhere — and  let  us  start 
now,"  said  Emily  somewhat  testily.  She  did  not 
like  this  nonsense. 

"  There  you  are  Syb — you've  got  your  orders — 
don't  leave  me  behind,"  wailed  Alice. 

Emily  frowned  and  bit  her  finger. 

"  Come  on,  Georgie.  You  look  like  the  finger 
of  a  pair  scales — between  two  weights.  Which'll 
draw?" 

"  The  heavier,"  he  replied,  smiling,  and  looking 
neither  at  Meg  or  Lettie. 

"  Then  it's  Meg,"  cried  Alice.  "  Oh,  I  wish  I 
was  fleshy — I've  no  chance  with  Syb  against  Pem." 

Emily  flashed  looks  of  rage ;  Meg  blushed  and  felt 
ashamed ;  Lettie  began  to  recover  from  her  first  out- 
raged indignation,  and  smiled. 

Thus  we  went  a  walk,  in  two  trios. 

Unfortunately,   as   the  evening  was   so  fine,  the 


KISS  WHEN  RIPE  FOR  TEARS     273 

roads  were  full  of  strollers:  groups  of  three  or  four 
men  dressed  in  pale  trousers  and  shiny  black  cloth 
coats,  following  their  suspicious  little  dogs:  gangs 
of  youths  slouching  along,  occupied  with  nothing, 
often  silent,  talking  now  and  then  in  raucous  tones 
on  some  subject  of  brief  interest:  then  the  gallant 
husbands,  in  their  tail  coats  very  husbandly,  push- 
ing a  jingling  perambulator,  admonished  by  a  much 
dressed  spouse  round  whom  the  small  members  of 
the  family  gyrated :  occasionally,  two  lovers  walking 
with  a  space  between  them,  disowning  each  other; 
occasionally,  a  smartly  dressed  mother  with  two  little 
girls  in  white  silk  frocks  and  much  expanse  of  yellow 
hair,  stepping  mincingly,  and,  near  by,  a  father  awk- 
wardly controlling  his  Sunday  suit. 

To  endure  all  this  it  was  necessary  to  chatter  un- 
concernedly. George  had  to  keep  up  the  conversa- 
tion behind,  and  he  seemed  to  do  it  with  ease,  dis- 
coursing on  the  lambs,  discussing  the  breed — when 
Meg  exclaimed: 

"  Oh,  aren't  they  black !  They  might  ha'  crept 
down  th'  chimney.  I  never  saw  any  like  them  be- 
fore." He  described  how  he  had  reared  two  on  the 
bottle,  exciting  Meg's  keen  admiration  by  his  moth- 
ering of  the  lambs.  Then  he  went  on  to  the  peewits, 
harping  on  the  same  string:  how  they  would  cry 
and  pretend  to  be  wounded — "  Just  fancy,  though !  " 
— and  how  he  had  moved  the  eggs  of  one  pair  while 
he  was  ploughing,  and  the  mother  had  followed  them, 
and  had  even  sat  watching  as  he  drew  near  again 
with  the  plough,  watching  him  come  and  go — 
"  Well,  she  knew  you — but  they  do  know  those  who 
are  kind  to  them " 


274       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  Yes,"  he  agreed,  "  her  little  bright  eyes  seem  to 
speak  as  you  go  by." 

"  Oh,  I  do  think  they're  nice  little  things — don't 
you,  Lettie  ?  "  cried  Meg  in  access  of  tenderness. 

Lettie  did — with  brevity. 

We  walked  over  the  hills  and  down  into  Greymede. 
Meg  thought  she  ought  to  go  home  to  her  grand- 
mother, and  George  bade  her  go,  saying  he  would 
call  and  see  her  in  an  hour  or  so. 

The  dear  girl  was  disappointed,  but  she  went 
unmurmuring.  We  left  Alice  with  a  friend,  and 
hurried  home  through  Selsby  to  escape  the  after- 
church  parade. 

As  you  walk  home  past  Selsby,  the  pit  stands  up 
against  the  west,  with  beautiful  tapering  chimneys 
marked  in  black  against  the  swim  of  sunset,  and 
the  head-stocks  etched  with  tall  significance  on  the 
brightness.  Then  the  houses  are  squat  in  rows  of 
shadow  at  the  foot  of  these  high  monuments. 

"  Do  you  know,  Cyril,"  said  Emily,  "  I  have 
meant  to  go  and  see  Mrs.  Annable — the  keeper's 
wife — she's  moved  into  Bonsart's  Kow,  and  the  chil- 
dren come  to  school — Oh,  it's  awful ! — they've  never 
been  to  school,  and  they  are  unspeakable." 

"  What's  she  gone  there  for  ? "  I  asked. 

"  I  suppose  the  squire  wanted  the  Kennels — and 
she  chose  it  herself.  But  the  way  they  live — it's 
fearful  to  think  of!" 

"  And  why  haven't  you  been  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know — I've  meant  to — but "  Emily 

stumbled. 

"  You  didn't  want,  and  you  daren't  ? " 


KISS  WHEN  RIPE  FOR  TEARS    275 

"  Perhaps  not — would  you  ?  " 

"  Pah — let's  go  now ! — There,  you  hang  back." 

"  No  I  don't,"  she  replied  sharply. 

"  Come  on  then,  we'll  go  through  the  twitchel. 
Let  me  tell  Lettie." 

Lettie  at  once  declared  r'  No !  " — with  some  asper- 
ity. 

"  All  right,"  said  George.     "  I'll  take  you  home." 

But  this  suited  Lettie  still  less. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  want  to  go  for,  Cyril," 
she  said,  "  and  Sunday  night,  and,  everybody  every- 
where.    I  want  to  go  home." 

"  Well — you    go    then — Emily    will    come    with 

you." 

"  Ha,"  cried  the  latter,  u  you  think  I  won't  go  to 
see  her." 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders,  and  George  pulled  his 
moustache. 

"  Well,  I  don't  care,"  declared  Lettie,  and  we 
marched  down  the  twitchel,  Indian  file. 

We  came  near  to  the  ugly  rows  of  houses  that 
back  up  against  the  pit-hill.  Everywhere  is  black 
and  sooty:  the  houses  are  back  to  back,  having  only 
one  entrance,  which  is  from  a  square  garden  where 
black-speckled  weeds  grow  sulkily,  and  which  looks 
on  to  a  row  of  evil  little  ash-pit  huts.  The  road 
everywhere  is  trodden  over  with  a  crust  of  soot  and 
coal-dust  and  cinders. 

Between  the  rows,  however,  was  a  crowd  of  women 
and  children,  bare  heads,  bare  arms,  white  aprons, 
and  black  Sunday  frocks  bristling  with  gimp.  One 
or  two  men  squatted  on  their  heels  with  their  backs 
against  a  wall,  laughing.     The  women  were  waving 


276      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

their  arms  and  screaming  up  at  the  roof  of  the  end 
house. 

Emily  and  Lettie  drew  back. 

"  Look  there — it's  that  little  beggar,  Sam !  "  said 
George. 

There,  sure  enough,  perched  on  the  ridge  of  the 
roof  against  the  end  chimney,  was  the  young  imp, 
coatless,  his  shirt-sleeves  torn  away  from  the  cuffs. 
I  knew  his  bright,  reddish  young  head  in  a  moment. 
He  got  up,  his  bare  toes  clinging  to  the  tiles,  and 
spread  out  his  fingers  fanwise  from  his  nose,  shout- 
ing something,  which  immediately  caused  the  crowd 
to  toss  with  indignation,  and  the  women  to  shriek 
again.  Sam  sat  down  suddenly,  having  almost  lost 
his  balance. 

The  village  constable  hurried  up,  his  thin  neck 
stretching  out  of  his  tunic,  and  demanded  the  cause 
of  the  hubbub. 

Immediately  a  woman  with  bright  brown  squint- 
ing eyes,  and  a  birthmark  on  her  cheek,  rushed  for- 
ward and  seized  the  policeman  by  the  sleeve. 

"  Ta'e  'im  up,  ta'e  'im  up,  an'  birch  'im  till  'is 
bloody  back's  raw,"  she  screamed. 

The  thin  policeman  shook  her  off,  and  wanted  to 
know  what  was  the  matter. 

"  I'll  smosh  'im  like  a  rotten  tater,"  cried  the 
woman,  "  if  I  can  lay  'ands  on  'im.  'E's  not  fit  ter 
live  nowhere  where  there's  decent  folks — the  thiev- 
in',  brazen  little  devil "  thus  she  went  on. 

"  But  what's  up !  "  interrupted  the  thin  constable, 
"what's  up  wi"im?" 

"  Up — it's  'im  as  'is  up,  an'  let  'im  wait  till  I 
get  'im  down.     A  crafty  little " 


KISS  WHEN  RIPE  FOR  TEARS    277 

Sam,  seeing  her  look  at  him,  distorted  his  honest 
features,  and  overheated  her  wrath,  till  Lettie  and 
Emily  trembled  with  dismay. 

The  mother's  head  appeared  at  the  bedroom  win- 
dow. She  slid  the  sash  back,  and  craned  out,  vainly 
trying  to  look  over  the  gutter  below  the  slates.  She 
was  even  more  dishevelled  than  usual,  and  the  tears 
had  dried  on  her  pale  face.  She  stretched  further 
out,  clinging  to  the  window  frame  and  to  the  gutter 
overhead,  till  I  was  afraid  she  would  come  down  with 
a  crash. 

The  men,  squatting  on  their  heels  against  the  wall 
of  the  ashpit,  laughed,  saying: 

"  Nab  'im,  Poll — can  ter  see  'm — clawk  'im !  " 
and  then  the  pitiful  voice  of  the  woman  was  heard 
crying :  "  Come  thy  ways  down,  my  duckie,  come  on 
— on'y  come  ter  thy  mother — they  shanna  touch  thee. 
Du  thy  mother's  bidding  now — Sam — Sam — Sam !  " 
her  voice  rose  higher  and  higher. 

"  Sammy,  Sammy,  go  to  thy  mammy,"  jeered  the 
wits  below. 

"  Shonna  ter  come,  Shonna  ter  come  to  thy 
mother,  my  duckie — come  on,  come  thy  ways  down." 

Sam  looked  at  the  crowd,  and  at  the  eaves  from 
under  which  rose  his  mother's  voice.  He  was  going 
to  cry.  A  big  gaunt  woman,  with  the  family  steel 
comb  stuck  in  her  back  hair,  shouted,  "  Tha'  mun 
well  bend  thy  face,  tha'  needs  ter  scraight,"  and 
aided  by  the  woman  with  the  birthmark  and  the 
squint,  she  reviled  him.  The  little  scoundrel,  in  a 
burst  of  defiance,  picked  a  piece  of  mortar  from  be- 
tween the  slates,  and  in  a  second  it  flew  into  frag- 
ments against  the  family  steel  comb.     The  wearer 


278      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

thereof  declared  her  head  was  laid  open,  and  there 
was  general  confusion.  The  policeman — I  don't 
know  how  thin  he  must  have  been  when  he  was  taken 
out  of  his  uniform — lost  his  head,  and  he  too  began 
brandishing  his  fists,  spitting  from  under  his  sweep's- 
brush  moustache  as  he  commanded  in  tones  of 
authority : 

"  Now  then,  no  more  on  it — let's  Ve  thee  down 
here,  an'  no  more  messin'  about !  " 

The  boy  tried  to  creep  over  the  ridge  of  the  roof 
and  escape  down  the  other  side.  Immediately  the 
brats  rushed  round  yelling  to  the  other  side  of  the 
row,  and  pieces  of  red-burnt  gravel  began  to  fly  over 
the  roof.     Sam  crouched  against  the  chimney. 

"Got  'im!"  yelled  one  little  devil.  "Got  'im! 
Hi — go  again !  " 

A  shower  of  stones  came  down,  scattering  the 
women  and  the  policeman.  The  mother  rushed  from 
the  house  and  made  a  wild  onslaught  on  the  throw- 
ers. She  caught  one,  and  flung  him  down.  Imme- 
diately the  rest  turned  and  aimed  their  missiles  at 
her.  Then  George  and  the  policeman  and  I  dashed 
after  the  young  wretches,  and  the  women  ran  to  see 
what  happened  to  their  offspring.  We  caught  two 
lads  of  fourteen  or  so,  and  made  the  policeman  haul 
them  after  us.     The  rest  fled. 

When  we  returned  to  the  field  of  battle,  Sam  had 
gone  too. 

"  If  'e  'asna  slived  off !  "  cried  the  woman  with  a 
squint.    "  But  I'll  see  him  locked  up  for  this." 

At  this  moment  a  band  of  missioners  from  one  of 
the  chapels  or  churches  arrived  at  the  end  of  the  row, 
and  the  little  harmonium  began  to  bray,   and  the 


KISS  WHEN  RIPE  FOR  TEARS    279 

place  vibrated  with  the  sound  of  a  woman's  powerful 
voice,  propped  round  by  several  others,  singing: 

"  At  'even  'ere  the  sun  was  set " 

Everybody  hurried  towards  the  new  noise,  save 
the  policeman  with  his  captives,  the  woman  with  the 
squint,  and  the  woman  with  the  family  comb.  I  told 
the  limb  of  the  law  he'd  better  get  rid  of  the  two 
boys  and  find  out  what  mischief  the  others  were 
after. 

Then  I  enquired  of  the  woman  with  the  squint 
what  was  the  matter. 

"  Thirty-seven  young  uns  'an  we  'ad  from  that 
doe,  an'  there's  no  knowin'  'ow  many  more,  if  they 
'adn't  a-gone  an'  ate-n  'er,"  she  replied,  lapsing,  now 
her  fury  was  spent,  into  sullen  resentment. 

"  An'  niver  a  word  should  we  a'  known,"  added  the 
family-comb-bearer,  "but  for  that  blessed  cat  of 
ourn,  as  scrat  it  up." 

"Indeed,"  said  I,  "the  rabbit?" 

"  No,  there  were  nowt  left  but  th'  skin — they'd 
seen  ter  that,  a  thieving,  dirt-eatin'  lot." 

"  When  was  that  ?  "  said  I. 

u  This  mortal  night — an'  there  was  th'  head  an' 
th'  back  in  th'  dirty  stewpot — I  can  show  you  this 
instant — I've  got  'em  in  our  pantry  for  a  proof, 
'aven't  I,  Martha  ?  " 

"  A  fat  lot  o'  good  it  is — but  I'll  rip  th'  neck  out 
of  'im,  if  ever  I  lay  'ands  on  'im." 

At  last  I  made  out  that  Samuel  had  stolen  a  large, 
lop-eared  doe  out  of  a  hutch  in  the  coal-house  of  the 
squint-eyed  lady,  had  skinned  it,  buried  the  skin,  and 
offered  his  booty  to  his  mother  as  a  wild  rabbit, 
trapped.     The  doe  had  been  the  chief  item  of  the 


280      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

Annables'  Sunday  dinner — albeit  a  portion  was  un- 
luckily saved  till  Monday,  providing  undeniable 
proof  of  the  theft.  The  owner  of  the  rabbit  had  sup- 
posed the  creature  to  have  escaped.  This  peaceful 
supposition  had  been  destroyed  by  the  comb-bearer's 
seeing  her  cat,  scratching  in  the  Annables  garden, 
unearth  the  white  and  brown  doe-skin,  after  which 
the  trouble  had  begun. 

The  squint-eyed  woman  was  not  so  hard  to  man- 
age. I  talked  to  her  as  if  she  were  some  male  friend 
of  mine,  only  appealing  to  her  womanliness  with  all 
the  soft  sadness  I  could  press  into  the  tones  of  my 
voice.  In  the  end  she  was  mollified,  and  even  tender 
and  motherly  in  her  feelings  toward  the  unfortunate 
family.  I  left  on  her  dresser  the  half-crown  I 
shrank  from  offering  her,  and,  having  reduced  the 
comb-wearer  also,  I  marched  off,  carrying  the  stew- 
pot  and  the  fragments  of  the  ill-fated  doe  to  the  cot- 
tage of  the  widow,  where  George  and  the  girls 
awaited  me. 

The  house  was  in  a  woeful  state.  In  the  rocking 
chair,  beside  the  high  guard  that  surrounded  the 
hearth,  sat  the  mother,  rocking,  looking  sadly  shaken 
now  her  excitement  was  over.  Lettie  was  nursing 
the  little  baby,  and  Emily  the  next  child.  George 
was  smoking  his  pipe  and  trying  to  look  natural. 
The  little  kitchen  was  crowded — there  was  no  room 
— there  was  not  even  a  place  on  the  table  for  the 
stew- jar,  so  I  gathered  together  cups  and  mugs  con- 
taining tea  sops,  and  set  down  the  vessel  of  ignominy 
on  the  much  slopped  tea-cloth.  The  four  little  chil- 
dren were  striped  and  patched  with  tears — at  my 
entrance  one  under  the  table  recommenced  to  weep, 


KISS  WHEN  RIPE  FOR  TEARS    281 

so  I  gave  him  my  pencil  which  pushed  in  and  out, 
but  which  pushes  in  and  out  no  more. 

The  sight  of  the  stewpot  affected  the  mother 
afresh.     She  wept  again,  crying: 

"  An'  I  niver  thought  as  'ow  it  were  aught  but  a 
snared  un ;  as  if  I  should  set  'im  on  ter  thieve  their 
old  doe ;  an'  tough  it  was  an'  all ;  an'  'im  a  thief,  an 
me  called  all  the  names  they  could  lay  their  tongues 
to:  an'  then  in  my  bit  of  a  pantry,  takin'  the  very 
pots  out:  that  stewpot  as  I  brought  all  the  way  from 
Nottingham,  an'  Fve  'ad  it  afore  our  Minnie  wor 
born " 

The  baby,  the  little  baby,  then  began  to  cry.  The 
mother  got  up  suddenly,  and  took  it. 

"  Oh,  come  then,  come  then  my  pet.  Why,  why 
cos  they  shanna,  no  they  shanna.  Yes,  he's  his  moth- 
er's least  little  lad,  he  is,  a  little  un.  Hush  then, 
there,  there — what's  a  matter,  my  little  I  " 

She  hushed  the  baby,  and  herself.  At  length  she 
asked : 

"  'As  th'  p'liceman  gone  as  well  ?  " 

"  Yes— it's  all  right,"  I  said. 

She  sighed  deeply,  and  her  look  of  weariness  was 
painful  to  see. 

"  How  old  is  your  eldest  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Fanny — she's  fourteen.  She's  out  service  at 
Websters.  Then  Jim,  as  is  thirteen  next  month — 
let's  see,  yes,  it  is  next  month — he's  gone  to  Flints 
— farming.  They  can't  do  much — an'  I  shan't  let 
'em  go  into  th'  pit,  if  I  can  help  it.  My  husband 
always  used  to  say  they  should  never  go  in  th'  pit." 

"  They  can't  do  much  for  you." 

"  They  dun  what  they  can.    But  it's  a  hard  job,  it 


282      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

is,  ter  keep  'em  all  goin'.  Wi'  weshin,  an'  th'  parish 
pay,  an'  five  shillin'  from  th'  squire — it's  'ard.  It 
was  diffrent  when  my  hushand  was  alive.  It  ought 
ter  'a  been  me  as  should  'a  died — I  don't  seem  as  if 
I  can  manage  'em — they  get  beyond  me.  I  wish  I 
was  dead  this  minnit,  an'  'im  'ere.  I  can't  under- 
stand it:  'im  as  wor  so  capable,  to  be  took,  an'  me 
left.  'E  wor  a  man  in  a  thousand,  'e  wor — full  o' 
management  like  a  gentleman.  I  wisht  it  was  me  as 
'ad  a  been  took.  'An  'e's  restless,  'cos  'e  knows  I 
find  it  'ard.  I  stood  at  th'  door  last  night,  when  they 
was  all  asleep,  looking  out  over  th'  pit  pond — an'  I 
saw  a  light,  an'  I  knowed  it  was  'im — cos  it  wor  our 
weddin'  day  yesterday — by  the  day  an'  th'  date.  An' 
I  said  to  'im  '  Frank,  is  it  thee,  Frank  ?  I'm  all 
right,  I'm  gettin'  on  all  right,' — an'  then  'e  went; 
seemed  to  go  ower  the  whimsey  an'  back  towards  th' 
wood.  I  know  it  wor  'im,  an'  'e  couldna  rest,  think- 
in'  I  couldna  manage " 

After  a  while  we  left,  promising  to  go  again,  and 
to  see  after  the  safety  of  Sam. 

It  was  quite  dark,  and  the  lamps  were  lighted  in 
the  houses.  We  could  hear  the  throb  of  the  fan- 
house  engines,  and  the  soft  whirr  of  the  fan. 

"  Isn't  it  cruel  ?  "  said  Emily,  plaintively. 

"  Wasn't  the  man  a  wretch  to  marry  the  woman 
like  that,"  added  Lettie  with  decision. 

"  Speak  of  Lady  Chrystabel,"  said  I,  and  then 
there  was  silence.  "  I  suppose  he  did  not  know  what 
he  was  doing,  any  more  than  the  rest  of  us." 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  to  your  aunt's — to  the 
Ram  Inn,"  said  Lettie  to  George  when  they  came  to 
the  cross-roads. 


KISS  WHEN  RIPE  FOR  TEARS    283 

"  Not  now — it's  too  late,"  he  answered  quietly* 
"  You  will  come  round  our  way,  won't  you  ? " 
"  Yes,"  she  said. 

We  were  eating  bread  and  milk  at  the  farm,  and 
the  father  was  talking  with  vague  sadness  and  remin- 
iscence, lingering  over  the  thought  of  their  departure 
from  the  old  house.  He  was  a  pure  romanticist,  for- 
ever seeking  the  colour  of  the  past  in  the  present's 
monotony.  He  seemed  settling  down  to  an  easy  con- 
tented middle-age,  when  the  unrest  on  the  farm  and 
development  of  his  children  quickened  him  with 
fresh  activity.  He  read  books  on  the  land  question, 
and  modern  novels.  In  the  end  he  became  an  ad- 
vanced radical,  almost  a  socialist.  Occasionally  his 
letters  appeared  in  the  newspapers.  He  had  taken 
a  new  hold  on  life. 

Over  supper  he  became  enthusiastic  about  Canada, 
and  to  watch  him,  his  ruddy  face  lighted  up,  his 
burly  form  straight  and  nerved  with  excitement,  was 
to  admire  him ;  to  hear  him,  his  words  of  thoughtful 
common-sense  all  warm  with  a  young  man's  hopes, 
was  to  love  him.  At  forty-six  he  was  more  sponta- 
neous and  enthusiastic  than  George,  and  far  more 
happy  and  hopeful. 

Emily  would  not  agree  to  go  away  with  them — 
what  should  she  do  in  Canada,  she  said — and  she  did 
not  want  the  little  ones  "  to  be  drudges  on  a  farm — 
in  the  end  to  be  nothing  but  cattle." 

"  Nay,"  said  her  father  gently,  "  Mollie  shall  learn 
the  dairying,  and  David  will  just  be  right  to  take  to 
the  place  when  I  give  up.  It'll  perhaps  be  a  bit 
rough  and  hard  at  first,  but  when  we've  got  over  it 


284      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

we  shall  think  it  was  one  of  the  best  times — like 
you  do." 

"  And  you,  George  ?  "  asked  Lettie. 

"  I'm  not  going.  What  should  I  go  for  ?  There's 
nothing  at  the  end  of  it  only  a  long  life.  It's  like  a 
day  here  in  June — a  long  work  day,  pleasant  enough, 
and  when  it's  done  you  sleep  well — but  it's  work  and 
sleep  and  comfort, — half  a  life.  It's  not  enough. 
What's  the  odds? — I  might  as  well  be  Flower,  the 
mare." 

His  father  looked  at  him  gravely  and  thoughtfully. 

"  Now  it  seems  to  me  so  different,"  he  said  sadly, 
"  it  seems  to  me  you  can  live  your  own  life,  and  be 
independent,  and  think  as  you  like  without  being 
choked  with  harassments.  I  feel  as  if  I  could  keep 
on — like  that " 

"  I'm  going  to  get  more  out  of  my  life,  I  hope," 
laughed  George.  "  No.  Do  you  know  I  "  and  here 
he  turned  straight  to  Lettie.  "  Do  you  know,  I'm 
going  to  get  pretty  rich,  so  that  I  can  do  what  I  want 
for  a  bit.  I  want  to  see  what  it's  like,  to  taste  all 
sides — to  taste  the  towns.  I  want  to  know  what  I've 
got  in  me.  I'll  get  rich — or  at  least  I'll  have  a  good 
try." 

"  And  pray  how  will  you  manage  it  ? "  asked 
Emily. 

"  I'll  begin  by  marrying — and  then  you'll  see." 

Emily  laughed  with  scorn — "  Let  us  see  you  be- 
gin." 

"  Ah,  you're  not  wise !  "  said  the  father  sadly — 
then,  laughing,  he  said  to  Lettie  in  coaxing,  confi- 
dential tones,  "  but  he'll  come  out  there  to  me  in  a 
year  or  two — you  see  if  he  doesn't." 


KISS  WHEN  RIPE  FOR  TEARS    285 

"  I  wish  I  could  come  now,"  said  I. 

"  If  you  would/'  said  George,  "  I'd  go  with  you. 
But  not  by  myself,  to  become  a  fat  stupid  fool,  like 
my  own  cattle." 

While  he  was  speaking  Gyp  burst  into  a  rage  of 
barking.  The  father  got  up  to  see  what  it  was,  and 
George  followed.  Trip,  the  great  bull-terrier,  rushed 
out  of  the  house  shaking  the  buildings  with  his  roars. 
We  saw  the  white  dog  flash  down  the  yard,  we  heard 
a  rattle  from  the  hen-house  ladder,  and  in  a  moment 
a  scream  from  the  orchard  side. 

We  rushed  forward,  and  there  on  the  sharp  bank- 
side  lay  a  little  figure,  face  down,  and  Trip  standing 
over  it,  looking  rather  puzzled. 

I  picked  up  the  child — it  was  Sam.  He  struggled 
as  soon  as  he  felt  my  hands,  but  I  bore  him  off  to  the 
house.  He  wriggled  like  a  wild  hare,  and  kicked, 
but  at  last  he  was  still.  I  set  him  on  the  hearthrug 
to  examine  him.  He  was  a  quaint  little  figure, 
dressed  in  a  man's  trousers  that  had  been  botched 
small  for  him,  and  a  coat  hanging  in  rags. 

"  Did  he  get  hold  of  you  ? "  asked  the  father. 
"  Where  was  it  he  got  hold  of  you  ?  " 

But  the  child  stood  unanswering,  his  little  pale  lips 
pinched  together,  his  eyes  staring  out  at  nothing. 
Emily  went  on  her  knees  before  him,  and  put  her 
face  close  to  his,  saying,  with  a  voice  that  made  one 
shrink  from  its  unbridled  emotion  of  caress : 

"Did  he  hurt  you,  eh? — tell  us  where  he  hurt 
you."  She  would  have  put  her  arms  around  him,  but 
he  shrank  away. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Lettie,  "  it's  here — and  it's 
bleeding.     Go  and  get  some  water,  Emily,  and  some 


286       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

rags.  Come  on,  Sam,  let  me  look  and  I'll  put  some 
rags  round  it.    Come  along." 

She  took  the  child  and  stripped  him  of  his  gro- 
tesque garments.  Trip  had  given  him  a  sharp  grab 
on  the  thigh  before  he  had  realised  that  he  was  deal- 
ing with  a  little  boy.  It  was  not  much,  however,  and 
Lettie  soon  had  it  bathed,  and  anointed  with  elder- 
flower  ointment.  On  the  boy's  body  were  several 
scars  and  bruises — evidently  he  had  rough  times. 
Lettie  tended  to  him  and  dressed  him  again.  He 
endured  these  attentions  like  a  trapped  wild  rabbit — 
never  looking  at  us,  never  opening  his  lips — only 
shrinking  slightly.  When  Lettie  had  put  on  him  his 
torn  little  shirt,  and  had  gathered  the  great  breeches 
about  him,  Emily  went  to  him  to  coax  him  and  make 
him  at  home.  She  kissed  him,  and  talked  to  him 
with  her  full  vibration  of  emotional  caress.  It 
seemed  almost  to  suffocate  him.  Then  she  tried  to 
feed  him  with  bread  and  milk  from  a  spoon,  but  he 
would  not  open  his  mouth,  and  he  turned  his  head 
away. 

"  Leave  him  alone — take  no  notice  of  him,"  said 
Lettie,  lifting  him  into  the  chimney  seat,  with  the 
basin  of  bread  and  milk  beside  him.  Emily  fetched 
the  two  kittens  out  of  their  basket,  and  put  them  too 
beside  him. 

"  I  wonder  how  many  eggs  he'd  got,"  said  the 
father,  laughing  softly. 

"  Hush !  "  said  Lettie.  "  When  do  you  think  you 
will  go  to  Canada,  Mr.  Saxton  ?  " 

"  Next  spring — it's  no  good  going  before." 

"  And  then  you'll  marry  ? "  asked  Lettie  of 
George. 


KISS  WHEN  RIPE  FOR  TEARS    287 

"  Before  then — oh,  before  then,"  he  said. 

"  Why — how  is  it  you  are  suddenly  in  such  a 
hurry  ? — when  will  it  be  ?  " 

"  When  are  you  marrying  8  "  he  asked  in  reply. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  coming  to  a  full  stop. 

"  Then  I  don't  know,"  he  said,  taking  a  large 
wedge  of  cheese  and  biting  a  piece  from  it. 

"  It  was  fixed  for  June,"  she  said,  recovering  her- 
self at  his  suggestion  of  hope. 

"  July !  "  said  Emily. 

"  Father !  "  said  he,  holding  the  piece  of  cheese  up 
before  him  as  he  spoke — he  was  evidently  nervous: 
"  Would  you  advise  me  to  marry  Meg  ?  " 

His  father  started,  and  said : 

"  Why,  was  you  thinking  of  doing  ?  " 

"  Yes — all  things  considered." 

"  Well — if  she  suits  you " 

"  We're  cousins " 

"  If  you  want  her,  I  suppose  you  won't  let  that 
hinder  you.  She'll  have  a  nice  bit  of  money,  and  if 
you  like  her " 

"  I  like  her  all  right — I  shan't  go  out  to  Canada 
with  her  though.  I  shall  stay  at  the  Ram — for  the 
sake  of  the  life." 

"  It's  a  poor  life,  that !  "  said  the  father,  rumi- 
nating. 

George  laughed.  "A  bit  mucky!  "  he  said — "  But 
it'll  do.  It  would  need  Cyril  or  Lettie  to  keep  me 
alive  in  Canada." 

It    was    a   bold    stroke — everybody    was    embar- 


"  Well,"  said  the  father,  "  I  suppose  we  can't  have 
everything  we  want — we  generally  have  to  put  up 


288       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

with  the  next  best  thing — don't  we,  Lettie  % " — he 
laughed.    Lettie  flushed  furiously. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "  You  can  generally 
get  what  you  want  if  you  want  it  badly  enough.  Of 
course — if  you  don't  mind " 

She  rose,  and  went  across  to  Sam. 

He  was  playing  with  the  kittens.  One  was  patting 
and  cuffing  his  bare  toe,  which  had  poked  through  his 
stocking.  He  pushed  and  teased  the  little  scamp 
with  his  toe  till  it  rushed  at  him,  clinging,  tickling, 
biting  till  he  gave  little  bubbles  of  laughter,  quite 
forgetful  of  us.  Then  the  kitten  was  tired,  and  ran 
off.  Lettie  shook  her  skirts,  and  directly  the  two 
playful  mites  rushed  upon  it,  darting  round  her,  roll- 
ing head  over  heels,  and  swinging  from  the  soft  cloth. 
Suddenly  becoming  aware  that  they  felt  tired,  the 
young  things  trotted  away  and  cuddled  together  by 
the  fender,  where  in  an  instant  they  were  asleep. 
Almost  as  suddenly,  Sam  sank  into  drowsiness. 

"  He'd  better  go  to  bed,"  said  the  father. 

"  Put  him  in  my  bed,"  said  George.  "  David 
would  wonder  what  had  happened." 

"  Will  you  go  to  bed,  Sam  ?  "  asked  Emily,  hold- 
ing out  her  arms  to  him,  and  immediately  startling 
him  by  the  terrible  gentleness  of  her  persuasion.  He 
retreated  behind  Lettie. 

"  Come  along,"  said  the  latter,  and  she  quickly 
took  him  and  undressed  him.  Then  she  picked  him 
up,  and  his  bare  legs  hung  down  in  front  of  her. 
His  head  drooped  drowsily  on  to  her  shoulder, 
against  her  neck. 

She  put  down  her  face  to  touch  the  loose  riot  of 
his  ruddy  hair.     She  stood  so,  quiet,  still  and  wist- 


KISS  WHEN  RIPE  FOR  TEARS    289 

ful,  for  a  few  moments;  perhaps  she  was  vaguely 
aware  that  the  attitude  was  beautiful  for  her,  and 
irresistibly  appealing  to  George,  who  loved,  above  all 
in  her,  her  delicate  dignity  of  tenderness.  Emily 
waited  with  the  lighted  candle  for  her  some 
moments. 

When  she  came  down  there  was  a  softness  about 
her. 

"  Now,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  if  George  asks  her 
again  he  is  wise." 

"  He  is  asleep,"  she  said,  quietly. 

"  I'm  thinking  we  might  as  well  let  him  stop  while 
we're  here,  should  we,  George  ? "  said  the  father. 

"Eh?" 

"  We'll  keep  him  here,  while  we  are  here " 

"  Oh— the  lad !  I  should.  Yes— he'd  be  better 
here  than  up  yonder." 

"  Ah,  yes — ever  so  much.  It  is  good  of  you,"  said 
Lettie. 

"  Oh,  he'll  make  no  difference,"  said  the  father. 

"  Not  a  bit,"  added  George. 

"  What  about  his  mother !  "  asked  Lettie. 

"  I'll  call  and  tell  her  in  the  morning,"  said 
George. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  call  and  tell  her." 

Then  she  put  on  her  things  to  go.  He  also  put 
on  his  cap. 

"  Are  you  coming  a  little  way,  Emily  ? "  I  asked. 

She  ran,  laughing,  with  bright  eyes  as  we  went  out 
into  the  darkness. 

We  waited  for  them  at  the  wood  gate.  We  all 
lingered,  not  knowing  what  to  say.  Lettie  said 
finally : 


290       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  Well — it's  no  good — the  grass  is  wet — Good- 
night— Good-night,  Emily." 

"  Good-night,"  he  said,  with  regret,  and  hesitation, 
and  a  trifle  of  impatience  in  his  voice  and  his  man- 
ner. He  lingered  still  a  moment;  she  hesitated — 
then  she  struck  off  sharply. 

"  He  has  not  asked  her,  the  idiot !  "  I  said  to  my- 
self. 

"  Keally,"  she  said  bitterly,  when  we  were  going 
up  the  garden  path,  "  You  think  rather  quiet  folks 
have  a  lot  in  them,  but  it's  only  stupidity — they  are 
mostly  fools." 


CHAPTER   V 

r 
AN    ARROW    FROM    THE    IMPATIENT    GOD 

On  an  afternoon  three  or  four  days  after  the  recov- 
ery of  Sam,  matters  became  complicated.  George, 
as  usual,  discovered  that  he  had  been  dawdling  in 
the  portals  of  his  desires,  when  the  doors  came  to 
with  a  bang.     Then  he  hastened  to  knock. 

"  Tell  her,"  he  said,  "  I  will  come  up  to-morrow 
after  milking — tell  her  I'm  coming  to  see  her." 

On  the  evening  of  that  morrow,  the  first  person  to 
put  in  an  appearance  was  a  garrulous  spinster  who 
had  called  ostensibly  to  inquire  into  the  absence  of 
the  family  from  church :  "  I  said  to  Elizabeth,  '  Now 
what  a  thing  if  anything  happens  to  them  just  now, 
and  the  wedding  is  put  onV  I  felt  I  must  come  and 
make  myself  sure — that  nothing  had  happened.  We 
all  feel  so  interested  in  Lettie  just  now.  I'm  sure 
everybody  is  talking  of  her,  she  seems  in  the  air. — I 
really  think  we  shall  have  thunder :  I  hope  we  shan't. 
— Yes,  we  are  all  so  glad  that  Mr.  Tempest  is  con- 
tent with  a  wife  from  at  home — the  others,  his  father 
and  Mr.  Robert  and  the  rest — they  were  none  of 
them  to  be  suited  at  home,  though  to  be  sure  the 
wives  they  brought  were  nothing — indeed  they  were 
not — as  many  a  one  said — Mrs.  Robert  was  a  paltry 
choice — neither  in  looks  or  manner  had  she  anything 
to  boast  of — if  her  family  was  older  than  mine. 

291 


292      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

Family  wasn't  much  to  make  up  for  what  she  lacked 
in  other  things,  that  I  could  easily  have  supplied  her 
with;  and,  oh,  dear,  what  an  object  she  is  now,  with 
her  wisp  of  hair  and  her  spectacles!  She  for  one 
hasn't  kept  much  of  her  youth.  But  when  is  the 
exact  date,  dear  ? — Some  say  this  and  some  that,  but 
as  I  always  say,  I  never  trust  a  '  they  say.'  It  is  so 
nice  that  you  have  that  cousin  a  canon  to  come  down 
for  the  service,  Mrs.  Beardsall,  and  Sir  Walter 
Houghton  for  the  groom's  man !  What  ? — You  don't 
think  so — oh,  but  I  know,  dear,  I  know ;  you  do  like 
to  treasure  up  these  secrets,  don't  you;  you  are 
greedy  for  all  the  good  things  just  now." 

She  shook  her  head  at  Lettie,  and  the  jet  orna- 
ments on  her  bonnet  twittered  like  a  thousand  wag- 
ging little  tongues.  Then  she  sighed,  and  was  about 
to  recommence  her  song,  when  she  happened  to  turn 
her  head  and  to  espy  a  telegraph  boy  coming  up  the 
path. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  nothing  is  wrong,  dear — I  hope  noth- 
ing is  wrong!  I  always  feel  so  terrified  of  a  tele- 
gram. You'd  better  not  open  it  yourself,  dear — 
don't  now — let  your  brother  go." 

Lettie,  who  had  turned  pale,  hurried  to  the  door. 
The  sky  was  very  dark — there  was  a  mutter  of 
thunder. 

"  It's  all  right,"  said  Lettie,  trembling,  "  it's  only 
to  say  he's  coming  to-night." 

"  I'm  very  thankful,  very  thankful,"  cried  the 
spinster.  "  It  might  have  been  so  much  worse.  I'm 
sure  I  never  open  a  telegram  without  feeling  as  if 
I  was  opening  a  death-blow.  I'm  so  glad,  dear;  it 
must  have  upset  you.     What  news  to  take  back  to 


AN   ARROW   FROM   GOD      293 

the  village,  supposing  something  had  happened !  "  she 
sighed  again,  and  the  jet  drops  twinkled  ominously 
in  the  thunder  light,  as  if  declaring  they  would  make 
something  of  it  yet. 

It  was  six  o'clock.  The  air  relaxed  a  little,  and 
the  thunder  was  silent.  George  would  be  coming 
about  seven;  and  the  spinster  showed  no  signs  of 
departure;  and  Leslie  might  arrive  at  any  moment. 
Lettie  fretted  and  fidgeted,  and  the  old  woman  gab- 
bled on.  I  looked  out  of  the  window  at  the  water  and 
the  sky. 

The  day  had  been  uncertain.  In  the  morning  it 
was  warm,  and  the  sunshine  had  played  and  raced 
among  the  cloud-shadows  on  the  hills.  Later,  great 
cloud  masses  had  stalked  up  from  the  northwest  and 
crowded  thick  across  the  sky;  in  this  little  night, 
sleet  and  wind,  and  rain  whirled  furiously.  Then 
the  sky  had  laughed  at  us  again.  In  the  sunshine 
came  the  spinster.  But  as  she  talked,  over  the  hill- 
top rose  the  wide  forehead  of  the  cloud,  rearing 
slowly,  ominously  higher.  A  first  messenger  of 
storm  passed  darkly  over  the  sky,  leaving  the  way 
clear  again. 

"  I  will  go  round  to  Highclose,"  said  Lettie.  "  I 
am  sure  it  will  be  stormy  again.  Are  you  coming 
down  the  road,  Miss  Slaighter,  or  do  you  mind  if  I 
leave  you  ? " 

"  I  will  go,  dear,  if  you  think  there  is  going  to  be 
another  storm — I  dread  it  so.  Perhaps  I  had  better 
wait " 

"  Oh,  it  will  not  come  over  for  an  hour,  I  am  sure. 
We  read  the  weather  well  out  here,  don't  we,  Cyril  % 
You'll  come  with  me,  won't  you  ?  " 


294       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

We  three  set  off,  the  gossip  leaning  on  her  toes, 
tripping  between  us.  She  was  much  gratified  by 
Lettie's  information  concerning  the  proposals  for  the 
new  home.  We  left  her  in  a  glow  of  congratulatory 
smiles  on  the  highway.  But  the  clouds  had  upreared, 
and  stretched  in  two  great  arms,  reaching  overhead. 
The  little  spinster  hurried  along,  but  the  black  hands 
of  the  clouds  kept  pace  and  clutched  her.  A  sudden 
gust  of  wind  shuddered  in  the  trees,  and  rushed  upon 
her  cloak,  blowing  its  bugles. 

An  icy  raindrop  smote  into  her  cheek.  She  hur- 
ried on,  praying  fervently  for  her  bonnet's  sake  that 
she  might  reach  Widow  Harriman's  cottage  before 
the  burst  came.  But  the  thunder  crashed  in  her  ear, 
and  a  host  of  hailstones  flew  at  her.  In  despair  and 
anguish  she  fled  from  under  the  ash  trees;  she 
reached  the  widow's  garden  gate,  when  out  leapt  the 
lightning  full  at  her.  "  Put  me  in  the  stair-hole !  " 
she  cried.     "  Where  is  the  stair-hole  ?  " 

Glancing  wildly  round,  she  saw  a  ghost.  It  was  the 
reflection  of  the  sainted  spinster,  Hilda  Slaighter,  in 
the  widow's  mirror ;  a  reflection  with  a  bonnet  fallen 
backwards,  and  to  it  attached  a  thick  rope  of  grey- 
brown  hair.  The  author  of  the  ghost  instinctively 
twisted  to  look  at  the  back  of  her  head.  She  saw 
some  ends  of  grey  hair,  and  fled  into  the  open  stair- 
hole  as  into  a  grave. 

We  had  gone  back  home  till  the  storm  was  over, 
and  then,  restless,  afraid  of  the  arrival  of  George, 
we  set  out  again  into  the  wet  evening.  It  was  fine 
and  chilly,  and  already  a  mist  was  rising  from  Neth- 
ermere,  veiling  the  farther  shore,  where  the  trees 
rose  loftily,  suggesting  groves  beyond  the  Nile.     The 


AN   ARROW   FROM    GOD      295 

birds  were  singing  riotously.  The  fresh  green  hedge 
glistened  vividly  and  glowed  again  with  intense 
green.  Looking  at  the  water,  I  perceived  a  delicate 
flush  from  the  west  hiding  along  it.  The  mist  licked 
and  wreathed  up  the  shores ;  from  the  hidden  white 
distance  came  the  mournful  cry  of  water  fowl.  We 
went  slowly  along  behind  a  heavy  cart,  which  clanked 
and  rattled  under  the  dripping  trees,  with  the  hoofs 
of  the  horse  moving  with  broad  thuds  in  front.  We 
passed  over  black  patches  where  the  ash  flowers  were 
beaten  down,  and  under  great  massed  clouds  of  green 
sycamore.  At  the  sudden  curve  of  the  road,  near  the 
foot  of  the  hill,  I  stopped  to  break  off  a  spray  of 
larch,  where  the  soft  cones  were  heavy  as  raspber- 
ries, and  gay  like  flowers  with  petals.  The  shaken 
bough  spattered  a  heavy  shower  on  my  face,  of  drops 
so  cold  that  they  seemed  to  sink  into  my  blood  and 
chill  it. 

"  Hark !  "  said  Lettie,  as  I  was  drying  my  face. 
There  was  the  quick  patter  of  a  motor-car  coming 
downhill.  The  heavy  cart  was  drawn  across  the  road 
to  rest,  and  the  driver  hurried  to  turn  the  horse 
back.  It  moved  with  painful  slowness,  and  we  stood 
in  the  road  in  suspense.  Suddenly,  before  we  knew 
it,  the  car  was  dropping  down  on  us,  coming  at  us 
in  a  curve,  having  rounded  the  horse  and  cart.  Let- 
tie  stood  faced  with  terror.  Leslie  saw  her,  and 
swung  round  the  wheels  on  the  sharp,  curving  hill- 
side; looking  only  to  see  that  he  should  miss  her. 
The  car  slid  sideways;  the  mud  crackled  under  the 
wheels,  and  the  machine  went  crashing  into  Nether- 
mere.  It  caught  the  edge  of  the  old  stone  wall  with 
a  smash.     Then  for  a  few  moments  I  think  I  was 


296       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

blind.  When  I  saw  again,  Leslie  was  lying  across 
the  broken  hedge,  his  head  hanging  down  the  bank, 
his  face  covered  with  blood ;  the  car  rested  strangely 
on  the  brink  of  the  water,  crumpled  as  if  it  had  sunk 
down  to  rest. 

Lettie,  with  hands  shuddering,  was  wiping  the 
blood  from  his  eyes  with  a  piece  of  her  underskirt. 
In  a  moment  she  said: 

"  He  is  not  dead — let  us  take  him  home — let  us 
take  him  quickly." 

I  ran  and  took  the  wicket  gate  off  its  hinges,  and 
laid  him  on  that.  His  legs  trailed  down,  but  we  car- 
ried him  thus,  she  at  the  feet,  I  at  the  head.  She 
made  me  stop  and  put  him  down.  I  thought  the 
weight  was  too  much  for  her,  but  it  was  not  that. 

"  I  can't  bear  to  see  his  hand  hanging,  knocking 
against  the  bushes  and  things." 

It  was  not  many  yards  to  the  house.  A  maid- 
servant saw  us,  came  running  out,  and  went  running 
back,  like  the  frightened  lapwing  from  the  wounded 
cat. 

We  waited  until  the  doctor  came.  There  was  a 
deep  graze  down  the  side  of  the  head — serious,  but 
not  dangerous ;  there  was  a  cut  across  the  cheek-bone 
that  would  leave  a  scar;  and  the  collar-bone  was 
broken.  I  stayed  until  he  had  recovered  conscious- 
ness. "  Lettie,"  he  wanted  Lettie,  so  she  had  to  re- 
main at  Highclose  all  night.  I  went  home  to  tell 
my  mother. 

When  I  went  to  bed  I  looked  across  at  the  lighted 
windows  of  Highclose,  and  the  lights  trailed  mistily 
towards  me  across  the  water.  The  cedar  stood  dark 
guard  against  the  house;  bright  the  windows  were, 


AN   ARROW   FROM    GOD      297 

like  the  stars,  and,  like  the  stars,  covering  their  tor- 
ment in  brightness.  The  sky  was  glittering  with 
sharp  lights — they  are  too  far  off  to  take  trouble 
for  us,  so  little,  little  almost  to  nothingness.  All  the 
great  hollow  vastness  roars  overhead,  and  the  stars 
are  only  sparks  that  whirl  and  spin  in  the  restless 
space.  The  earth  must  listen  to  us ;  she  covers  her 
face  with  a  thin  veil  of  mist,  and  is  sad ;  she  soaks  up 
our  blood  tenderly,  in  the  darkness,  grieving,  and  in 
the  light  she  soothes  and  reassures  us.  Here  on  our 
earth  is  sympathy  and  hope,  the  heavens  have  noth- 
ing but  distances. 

A  corn-crake  talked  to  me  across  the  valley,  talked 
and  talked  endlessly,  asking  and  answering  in  hoarse 
tones  from  the  sleeping,  mist-hidden  meadows.  The 
monotonous  voice,  that  on  past  summer  evenings  had 
had  pleasant  notes  of  romance,  now  was  intolerable 
to  me.  Its  inflexible  harshness  and  cacophany 
seemed  like  the  voice  of  fate  speaking  out  its  tune- 
less perseverance  in  the  night. 

In  the  morning  Lettie  came  home  wan,  sad-eyed, 
and  self-reproachful.  After  a  short  time  they  came 
for  her,  as  he  wanted  her  again. 

When  in  the  evening  I  went  to  see  George,  he  too 
was  very  despondent. 

"  It's  no  good  now,"  said  I.  "  You  should  have 
insisted  and  made  your  own  destiny." 

"  Yes — perhaps  so,"  he  drawled,  in  his  best  reflec- 
tive manner. 

"  I  would  have  had  her — she'd  have  been  glad  if 
you'd  done  as  you  wanted  with  her.  She  won't  leave 
him  till  he's  strong,  and  he'll  marry  her  before  then. 
You  should  have  had  the  courage  to  risk  yourself — 


298       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

you're  always  too  careful  of  yourself  and  your  own 
poor  feelings — you  never  could  brace  yourself  up  to 
a  shower-bath  of  contempt  and  hard  usage,  so  youVe 
saved  your  feelings  and  lost — not  much,  I  suppose — 
you  couldn't." 

"  But "   he  began,   not   looking  up ;    and   I 

laughed  at  him. 

"  Go  on,"  I  said. 

"  Well — she  was  engaged  to  him " 

"  Pah — you  thought  you  were  too  good  to  be  re- 
jected." 

He  was  very  pale,  and  when  he  was  pale,  the  tan 
on  his  skin  looked  sickly.  He  regarded  me  with  his 
dark  eyes,  which  were  now  full  of  misery  and  a 
child's  big  despair. 

"  And  nothing  else,"  I  completed,  with  which  the 
little,  exhausted  gunboat  of  my  anger  wrecked  and 
sank  utterly.  Yet  no  thoughts  would  spread  sail  on 
the  sea  of  my  pity :  I  was  like  water  that  heaves  with 
yearning,  and  is  still. 

Leslie  was  very  ill  for  some  time.  He  had  a  slight 
brain  fever,  and  was  delirious,  insisting  that  Lettie 
was  leaving  him.  She  stayed  most  of  her  days  at 
Highclose. 

One  day  in  June  he  lay  resting  on  a  deck  chair  in 
the  shade  of  the  cedar,  and  she  was  sitting  by  him. 
It  was  a  yellow,  sultry  day,  when  all  the  atmosphere 
seemed  inert,  and  all  things  were  languid. 

"  Don't  you  think,  dear,"  she  said,  "  it  would  be 
better  for  us  not  to  marry  ?  " 

He  lifted  his  head  nervously  from  the  cushions; 
his  face  was  emblazoned  with  a  livid  red  bar  on  a 
field  of  white,  and  he  looked  worn,  wistful. 


AN   ARROW   FROM    GOD      299 

"  Do  you  mean  not  yet  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes — and,  perhaps, — perhaps  never." 

"  Ha,"  he  laughed,  sinking  down  again.  "  I  must 
be  getting  like  myself  again,  if  you  begin  to  tease 
me." 

"  But,"  she  said,  struggling  valiantly,  "  I'm  not 
sure  I  ought  to  marry  you." 

He  laughed  again,  though  a  little  apprehensively. 

"  Are  you  afraid  I  shall  always  be  weak  in  my 
noddle  ?  "  he  asked.     "  But  you  wait  a  month." 

"  No,  that  doesn't  bother  me " 

"Oh,  doesn't  it!" 

"  Silly  boy— no,  it's  myself." 

"  I'm  sure  I've  made  no  complaint  about  you." 

"  Not  likely — but  I  wish  you'd  let  me  go." 

"  I'm  a  strong  man  to  hold  you,  aren't  1 9  Look  at 
my  muscular  paw !  " — he  held  out  his  hands,  frail 
and  white  with  sickness. 

"  You  know  you  hold  me — and  I  want  you  to  let 
me  go.    I  don't  want  to " 

"To  what?" 

"  To  get  married  at  all — let  me  be,  let  me  go." 

"  What  for  ?  " 

"  Oh— for  my  sake." 

"  You  mean  you  don't  love  me  ? " 

"  Love — love — I  don't  know  anything  about  it. 
But  I  can't — we  can't  be — don't  you  see — oh,  what 
do  they  say, — flesh  of  one  flesh." 

"  Why  ?  "  he  whispered,  like  a  child  that  is  told 
some  tale  of  mystery. 

She  looked  at  him,  as  he  lay  propped  upon  his 
elbow,  turning  towards  hers  his  white  face  of  fear 
and  perplexity,  like  a  child  that  cannot  understand, 


300      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

and  is  afraid,  and  wants  to  cry.  Then  slowly  tears 
gathered  full  in  her  eyes,  and  she  wept  from  pity  and 
despair. 

This  excited  him  terribly.  He  got  up  from  his 
chair,  and  the  cushions  fell  on  to  the  grass : 

"  What's  the  matter,  what's  the  matter ! — Oh,  Let- 
tie, — is  it  me? — don't  you  want  me  now? — is  that 
it  ? — tell  me,  tell  me  now,  tell  me," — he  grasped  her 
wrists,  and  tried  to  pull  her  hands  from  her  face. 
The  tears  were  running  down  his  cheeks.  She  felt 
him  trembling,  and  the  sound  of  his  voice  alarmed 
her  from  herself.  She  hastily  smeared  the  tears 
from  her  eyes,  got  up,  and  put  her  arms  round  him. 
He  hid  his  head  on  her  shoulder  and  sobbed,  while 
she  bent  over  him,  and  so  they  cried  out  their  cries, 
till  they  were  ashamed,  looking  round  to  see  if  any- 
one were  near.  Then  she  hurried  about,  picking 
up  the  cushions,  making  him  lie  down,  and  arrang- 
ing him  comfortably,  so  that  she  might  be  busy.  He 
was  querulous,  like  a  sick,  indulged  child.  He  would 
have  her  arm  under  his  shoulders,  and  her  face  near 
his. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  smiling  faintly  again  after  a 
time.  "  You  are  naughty  to  give  us  such  rough 
times — is  it  for  the  pleasure  of  making  up,  bad 
little  Schnucke — aren't  you  ?  " 

She  kept  close  to  him,  and  he  did  not  see  the  wince 
and  quiver  of  her  lips. 

"  I  wish  I  was  strong  again — couldn't  we  go  boat- 
ing— or  ride  on  horseback — and  you'd  have  to  behave 
then.  Do  you  think  I  shall  be  strong  in  a  month? 
Stronger  than  you  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so,"  she  said. 


AN   ARROW    FROM    GOD      301 

"  Why,  I  don't  believe  you  do,  I  believe  you  like 
me  like  this — so  that  you  can  lay  me  down  and  smooth 
me — don't  you,  quiet  girl  ?  " 

u  When  you're  good." 

"  Ah,  well,  in  a  month  I  shall  be  strong,  and  we'll 
be  married  and  go  to  Switzerland — do  you  hear, 
Schnucke — you  won't  be  able  to  be  naughty  any  more 
then.  Oh — do  you  want  to  go  away  from  me 
again  ? " 

"  Wo — only  my  arm  is  dead,"  she  drew  it  from 
beneath  him,  standing  up,  swinging  it,  smiling  be- 
cause it  hurt  her. 

"  Oh,  my  darling — what  a  shame !  oh,  I  am  a  brute, 
a  kiddish  brute.  I  wish  I  was  strong  again,  Lettie, 
and  didn't  do  these  things." 

"  You  boy — it's  nothing."  She  smiled  at  him 
again. 


CHAPTEK    VI 


THE    COURTING 


During  Leslie's  illness  I  strolled  down  to  the  mill  one 
Saturday  evening.  I  met  George  tramping  across 
the  yard  with  a  couple  of  buckets  of  swill,  and  eleven 
young  pigs  rushing  squealing  about  his  legs,  shriek- 
ing in  an  agony  of  suspense.  He  poured  the  stuff 
into  a  trough  with  luscious  gurgle,  and  instantly  ten 
noses  were  dipped  in,  and  ten  little  mouths  began  to 
slobber.  Though  there  was  plenty  of  room  for  ten, 
yet  they  shouldered  and  shoved  and  struggled  to  cap- 
ture a  larger  space,  and  many  little  trotters  dabbled 
and  spilled  the  stuff,  and  the  ten  sucking,  clapping 
snouts  twitched  fiercely,  and  twenty  little  eyes  glared 
askance,  like  so  many  points  of  wrath.  They  gave 
uneasy,  gasping  grunts  in  their  haste.  The  unhappy 
eleventh  rushed  from  point  to  point  trying  to  push 
in  his  snout,  but  for  his  pains  he  got  rough  squeezing, 
and  sharp  grabs  on  his  ears.  Then  he  lifted  up  his 
face  and  screamed  screams  of  grief  and  wrath  unto 
the  evening  sky. 

But  the  ten  little  gluttons  only  twitched  their  ears  to 
make  sure  there  was  no  danger  in  the  noise,  and  they 
sucked  harder,  with  much  spilling  and  slobbing. 
George  laughed  like  a  sardonic  Jove,  but  at  last  he 
gave  ear,  and  kicked  the  ten  gluttons  from  the  trough, 
and  allowed  the  residue  to  the  eleventh.     This  one, 

302 


THE    COURTING  303 

poor  wretch,  almost  wept  with  relief  as  he  sucked  and 
swallowed  in  sobs,  casting  his  little  eyes  apprehen- 
sively upwards,  though  he  did  not  lift  his  nose  from 
the  trough,  as  he  heard  the  vindictive  shrieks  of  ten 
little  fiends  kept  at  bay  by  George.  The  solitary 
feeder,  shivering  with  apprehension,  rubbed  the  wood 
bare  with  his  snout,  then,  turning  up  to  heaven  his 
eyes  of  gratitude,  he  reluctantly  left  the  trough.  I 
expected  to  see  the  ten  fall  upon  him  and  devour 
him,  but  they  did  not;  they  rushed  upon  the  empty 
trough,  and  rubbed  the  wood  still  drier,  shrieking 
with  misery. 

"  How  like  life,"  I  laughed. 

"  Fine  litter,"  said  George ;  "  there  were  fourteen, 
only  that  damned  she-devil,  Circe,  went  and  ate  three 
of  'em  before  we  got  at  her." 

The  great  ugly  sow  came  leering  up  as  he  spoke. 

"  Why  don't  you  fatten  her  up,  and  devour  her, 
the  old  gargoyle  ?     She's  an  offence  to  the  universe." 

"  Nay — she's  a  fine  sow." 

I  snorted,  and  he  laughed,  and  the  old  sow  grunted 
with  contempt,  and  her  little  eyes  twisted  towards  us 
with  a  demoniac  leer  as  she  rolled  past. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  to-night !  "  I  asked. 
"  Going  out  ?  " 

"  I'm  going  courting,"  he  replied,  grinning. 

"Oh!— wish  7  were!" 

"  You  can  come  if  you  like — and  tell  me  where  I 
make  mistakes,  since  you're  an  expert  on  such  mat- 
ters." 

"  Don't  you  get  on  very  well  then  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  all  right — it's  easy  enough  when  you  don't 
care   a   damn.      Besides,   you   can   always   have   a 


304      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

Johnny  Walker.     That's  the  best  of  courting  at  the 
Earn  Inn.     I'll  go  and  get  ready." 

In  the  kitchen  Emily  sat  grinding  out  some  stitch- 
ing from  a  big  old  hand-machine  that  stood  on  the 
table  before  her:  she  was  making  shirts,  for  Sam,  I 
presumed.  That  little  fellow,  who  was  installed  at 
the  farm,  was  seated  by  her  side  firing  off  words  from 
a  reading  book.  The  machine  rumbled  and  rattled 
on,  like  a  whole  factory  at  work,  for  an  inch  or  two, 
during  which  time  Sam  shouted  in  shrill  explosions 
like    irregular    pistol    shots :    "  Do — not — pot " 


Put !  "  cried  Emily  from  the  machine ;  "  put " 

shrilled  the  child,  "  the  soot — on — my — boot," — 
there  the  machine  broke  down,  and,  frightened  by  the 
sound  of  his  own  voice,  the  boy  stopped  in  bewilder- 
ment and  looked  round. 

"  Go  on !  "  said  Emily,  as  she  poked  in  the  teeth  of 
the  old  machine  with  the  scissors,  then  pulled  and 

prodded  again.    He  began  " — boot, — but — you " 

here  he  died  off  again,  made  nervous  by  the  sound  of 
his  voice  in  the  stillness.  Emily  sucked  a  piece  of 
cotton  and  pushed  it  through  the  needle. 

"  Now  go  on,"  she  said,  " — '  but  you  may  '." 

"  But — you — may — shoot  " : — he  shouted  away, 
reassured  by  the  rumble  of  the  machine :  "  Shoot — the 
— fox.     I — I — It — is — at — the — rot " 

"  Koot,"  shrieked  Emily,  as  she  guided  the  stuff 
through  the  doddering  jaws  of  the  machine. 

"  Koot,"  echoed  the  boy,  and  he  went  off  with  these 
crackers :  "  Root — of — the — tree." 

"  Next  one !  "  cried  Emily. 

"  Put— the— ol "  began  the  boy. 

"  What  ?  "  cried  Emily. 


THE    COURTING  305 


«  Ole— on- 


"  Wait  a  bit !  "  cried  Emily,  and  then  the  machine 
broke  down. 

"  Hang!  "  she  ejaculated. 

"  Hang !  "  shouted  the  child. 

She  laughed,  and  leaned  over  to  him : 

"  '  Put  the  oil  in  the  pan  to  boil,  while  I  toil  in 
the  soil — Oh,  Cyril,  I  never  knew  you  were  there! 
Go  along  now,  Sam:  David  '11  be  at  the  back  some- 
where." 

"  He's  in  the  bottom  garden,"  said  I,  and  the  child 
ran  out. 

Directly  George  came  in  from  the  scullery,  drying 
himself.  He  stood  on  the  hearthrug  as  he  rubbed 
himself,  and  surveyed  his  reflection  in  the  mirror 
above  the  high  mantelpiece ;  he  looked  at  himself  and 
smiled.  I  wondered  that  he  found  such  satisfaction 
in  his  image,  seeing  that  there  was  a  gap  in  his  chin, 
and  an  uncertain  moth-eaten  appearance  in  one  cheek. 
Mrs.  Saxton  still  held  this  mirror  an  object  of  dig- 
nity ;  it  was  fairly  large,  and  had  a  well-carven  frame ; 
but  it  left  gaps  and  spots  and  scratches  in  one's 
countenance,  and  even  where  it  was  brightest,  it  gave 
one's  reflection  a  far-away  dim  aspect.  Notwith- 
standing, George  smiled  at  himself  as  he  combed  his 
hair,  and  twisted  his  moustache. 

"  You  seem  to  make  a  good  impression  on  your- 
self," said  I. 

"  I  was  thinking  I  looked  all  right — sort  of  face  to 
go  courting  with,"  he  replied,  laughing:  "You  just 
arrange  a  patch  of  black  to  come  and  hide,  your  faults 
— and  you're  all  right." 

"  I  always  used  to  think,"  said  Emily,  "  that  the 


306      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

black  spots  had  swallowed  so  many  faces  they  were 
full  up,  and  couldn't  take  any  more — and  the  rest  was 
misty  because  there  were  so  many  faces  lapped  one 
over  the  other — reflected." 

"  You  do  see  yourself  a  bit  ghostish "  said  he, 

"  on  a  background  of  your  ancestors.  I  always  think 
when  you  stop  in  an  old  place  like  this  you  sort  of 
keep  company  with  your  ancestors  too  much ;  I  some- 
times feel  like  a  bit  of  the  old  building  walking  about ; 
the  old  feelings  of  the  old  folks  stick  to  you  like  the 
lichens  on  the  walls ;  you  sort  of  get  hoary." 

"  That's  it — it's  true,"  asserted  the  father,  **  people 
whose  families  have  shifted  about  much  don't  know 
how  it  feels.     That's  why  I'm  going  to  Canada." 

"  And  I'm  going  in  a  Pub,"  said  George,  "  where 
it's  quite  different — plenty  of  life." 

"  Life !  "  echoed  Emily  with  contempt. 

"  That's  the  word,  my  wench,"  replied  her  brother, 
lapsing  into  the  dialect.  "  That's  what  I'm  after. 
We  known  such  a  lot,  an'  we  known  nowt." 

"  You  do "  said  the  father,  turning  to  me, 

"  you  stay  in  one  place,  generation  after  generation, 
and  you  seem  to  get  proud,  an'  look  on  things  outside 
as  foolishness.  There's  many  a  thing  as  any  common 
man  knows,  as  we  haven't  a  glimpse  of.  We  keep  on 
thinking  and  feeling  the  same,  year  after  year,  till 
we've  only  got  one  side;  an'  I  suppose  they've  done 
it  before  us." 

"  It's  '  Good-night  an'  God  bless  you,'  to  th'  owd 
place,  granfeythers  an'  grammothers, '  laughed  George 
as  he  ran  upstairs — "  an'  off  we  go  on  the  gallivant," 
he  shouted  from  the  landing. 

His  father  shook  his  head,  saying: 


THE    COURTING  307 

"  I  can't  make  out  how  it  is,  he's  so  different.  I 
suppose  it's  being  in  love " 

We  went  into  the  barn  to  get  the  bicycles  to  cycle 
over  to  Greymede.  George  struck  a  match  to  look 
for  his  pump,  and  he  noticed  a  great  spider  scuttle  off 
into  the  corner  of  the  wall,  and  sit  peeping  out  at  him 
like  a  hoary  little  ghoul. 

"  How  are  you,  old  chap  ?  "  said  George,  nodding 
to  him — "  Thought  he  looked  like  an  old  grandfather 
of  mine,"  he  said  to  me,  laughing,  as  he  pumped  up 
the  tyres  of  the  old  bicycle  for  me. 

It  was  Saturday  night,  so  the  bar  parlour  of  the 
Ram  Inn  was  fairly  full. 

"  Hello,  George — come  co'tin'  ?  "  was  the  cry,  fol- 
lowed by  a  nod  and  a  "  Good  evenin',"  to  me,  who 
was  a  stranger  in  the  parlour. 

"  It's  a  raight  for  thaigh,"  said  a  fat  young  fel- 
low with  an  unwilling  white  mustache,  " — tha  can 
co'te  as  much  as  ter  likes  ter  'ae,  as  well  as  th'  lass, 

an'    it   costs    thee   nowt "    at   which   the    room 

laughed,  taking  pipes  from  mouths  to  do  so.  George 
sat  down,  looking  round. 

"  'Owd  on  a  bit,"  said  a  black-whiskered  man,  "  tha 
mun  'a  'e  patience  when  tu  't  co'tin'  a  lass.  Ov/s 
puttin'  th'  owd  lady  ter  bed — 'ark  thee — can  t'  ear — 
that  wor  th'  bed  latts  goin'  bang.  Ow'll  be  dern  in  a 
minnit  now,  gie  'er  time  ter  tuck  th'  owd  lady  up. 
Can'  ter  'ear  'er  say  'er  prayers." 

"  Strike !  "  cried  the  fat  young  man,  exploding : 

"  Fancy  th'  owd  lady  sayin'  'er  prayers ! — it  'ud 
be  enough  ter  ma'e  'er  false  teeth  drop  out." 

The  room  laughed. 


308      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

They  began  to  tell  tales  about  the  old  landlady. 
She  had  practised  bone-setting,  in  which  she  was  very 
skilful.  People  came  to  her  from  long  distances  that 
she  might  divine  their  trouble  and  make  right  their 
limbs.     She  would  accept  no  fee. 

Once  she  had  gone  up  to  Dr.  Full  wood  to  give  him 
a  piece  of  her  mind,  inasmuch  as  he  had  let  a  child 
go  for  three  weeks  with  a  broken  collar-bone,  whilst 
treating  him  for  dislocation.  The  doctor  had  tried 
the  high  hand  with  her,  since  when,  wherever  he  went 
the  miners  placed  their  hands  on  their  shoulders,  and 
groaned :  l  Oh  my  collar-bone  !  ' 

Here  Meg  came  in.  She  gave  a  bright,  quick,  bird 
like  look  at  George,  and  flushed  a  brighter  red. 

"  I  thought  you  wasn't  cummin/'  she  said. 

"  Dunna  thee  bother — Vd  none  stop  away,"  said 
the  black-whiskered  man. 

She  brought  us  glasses  of  whisky,  and  moved  about 
supplying  the  men,  who  chaffed  with  her  honestly 
and  good-naturedly.  Then  she  went  out,  but  we  re- 
mained in  our  corner.  The  men  talked  on  the  most 
peculiar  subjects :  there  was  a  bitter  discussion  as  to 
whether  London  is  or  is  not  a  seaport — the  matter 
was  thrashed  out  with  heat ;  then  an  embryo  artist  set 
the  room  ablaze  by  declaring  there  were  only  three  col- 
ours, red,  yellow,  and  blue,  and  the  rest  were  not 
colours,  they  were  mixtures :  this  amounted  almost  to 
atheism  and  one  man  asked  the  artist  to  dare  to  de- 
clare that  his  brown  breeches  were  not  a  colour, 
which  the  artist  did,  and  almost  had  to  fight  for  it; 
next  they  came  to  strength,  and  George  won  a  bet  of 
five  shillings,  by  lifting  a  piano;  then  they  settled 
down,  and  talked  sex,  sotto  voce,   one  man  giving 


THE    COURTING  309 

startling  accounts  of  Japanese  and  Chinese  prosti- 
tutes in  Liverpool.  After  this  the  talk  split  up:  a 
farmer  began  to  counsel  George  how  to  manage  the 
farm  attached  to  the  Inn,  another  bargained  with 
him  about  horses,  and  argued  about  cattle,  a  tailor 
advised  him  thickly  to  speculate,  and  unfolded  a  fine 
secret  by  which  a  man  might  make  money,  if  he  had 
the  go  to  do  it — so  on,  till  eleven  o'clock.  Then  Bill 
came  and  called  "  time !  "  and  the  place  was  empty, 
and  the  room  shivered  as  a  little  fresh  air  came  in 
between  the  foul  tobacco  smoke,  and  smell  of  drink, 
and  foul  breath. 

We  were  both  affected  by  the  whisky  we  had 
drunk.  I  was  ashamed  to  find  that  when  I  put  out 
my  hand  to  take  my  glass,  or  to  strike  a  match,  I 
missed  my  mark,  and  fumbled;  my  hands  seemed 
hardly  to  belong  to  me,  and  my  feet  were  not  much 
more  sure.  Yet  I  was  acutely  conscious  of  every 
change  in  myself  and  in  him ;  it  seemed  as  if  I  could 
make  my  body  drunk,  but  could  never  intoxicate  my 
mind,  which  roused  itself  and  kept  the  sharpest  guard. 
George  was  frankly  half  drunk:  his  eyelids  sloped 
over  his  eyes  and  his  speech  was  thick ;  when  he  put 
out  his  hand  he  knocked  over  his  glass,  and  the  stuff 
was  spilled  all  over  the  table;  he  only  laughed.  I, 
too,  felt  a  great  prompting  to  giggle  on  every  occasion, 
and  I  marvelled  at  myself. 

Meg  came  into  the  room  when  all  the  men  had  gone. 

"  Come  on,  my  duck,"  he  said,  waving  his  arm 
with  the  generous  flourish  of  a  tipsy  man.  "  Come 
an'  sit  'ere." 

"  Shan't  you  come  in  th'  kitchen  ?  "  she  asked,  look- 
ing round  on  the  tables  where  pots  and  glasses  stood 


310       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

in  little  pools  of  liquor,  and  where  spent  matches  and 
tobacco-ash  littered  the  white  wood. 

"  No — what  for  ? — come  an'  sit  'ere !  " — he  was 
reluctant  to  get  on  his  feet;  I  knew  it  and  laughed 
inwardly;  I  also  laughed  to  hear  his  thick  speech, 
and  his  words  which  seemed  to  slur  against  his  cheeks. 

She  went  and  sat  by  him,  having  moved  the  little 
table  with  its  spilled  liquor. 

"  They've  been  tellin'  me  how  to  get  rich,"  he  said, 
nodding  his  head  and  laughing,  showing  his  teeth, 
"  An'  I'm  goin'  ter  show  'em.  You  see,  Meg,  you 
see — I'm  goin'  ter  show  'em  I  can  be  as  good  as  them, 
you  see." 

"  Why,"  said  she,  indulgent,  "  what  are  you  going 
to  do?" 

"  You  wait  a  bit  an'  see — they  don't  know  yet 
what  I  can  do — they  don't  know — you  don't  know — 
none  of  you  know." 

"  An'  what  shall  you  do  when  we're  rich,  George  ?  " 

"  Do  ? — I  shall  do  what  I  like.  I  can  make  as  good 
a  show  as  anybody  else,  can't  I  ? " — he  put  his  face 
very  near  to  hers,  and  nodded  at  her,  but  she  did  not 
turn  away. — "  Yes — I'll  see  what  it's  like  to  have  my 
fling.  We've  been  too  cautious,  our  family  has — an' 
I  have ;  we're  frightened  of  ourselves,  to  do  anything. 
I'm  goin'  to  do  what  I  like,  my  duck,  now — I  don't 
care —  I  don't  care — that !  " — he  brought  his  hand 
down  heavily  on  the  table  nearest  him,  and  broke  a 
glass.     Bill  looked  in  to  see  what  was  happening. 

"  But  you  won't  do  anything  that's  not  right, 
George !  " 

"  No — I  don't  want  to  hurt  nobody — but  I  don't 
care — that !  " 


THE    COURTING  311 

"You're  too  good-hearted  to  do  anybody  any 
harm." 

"  I  believe  I  am.  You  know  me  a  bit,  you  do, 
Meg — you  don't  think  I'm  a  fool  now,  do  you  ?  " 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't — who  does  ?  " 

"  No — you  don't — I  know  you  don't.  Gi'e  me  a 
kiss — thou'rt  a  little  beauty,  thou  art — like  a  ripe 
plum!  I  could  set  my  teeth  in  thee,  thou'rt  that 
nice — full  o'  red  juice  " — he  playfully  pretended  to 
bite  her.    She  laughed,  and  gently  pushed  him  away. 

"  Tha  likest  me,  doesna  ta  ?  "  he  asked  softly. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  know  for  % "  she  replied, 
with  a  tender  archness. 

"  But  tha  does — say  now,  tha  does." 

"  I  should  a'  thought  you'd  a'  known,  without 
telling." 

"  Nay,  but,  I  want  to  hear  thee." 

"  Go  on,"  she  said,  and  she  kissed  him. 

"  But  what  should  you  do  if  I  went  to  Canada  and 
left  you?" 

"  Ah — you  wouldn't  do  that." 

"  But  I  might— and  what  then  %  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  what  I  should  do.  But  you 
wouldn't  do  it,  I  know  you  wouldn't — you  couldn't." 
He  quickly  put  his  arms  round  her  and  kissed  her, 
moved  by  the  trembling  surety  of  her  tone: 

"  No,  I  wouldna — I'd  niver  leave  thee — tha'd  be 
as  miserable  as  sin,  shouldna  ta,  my  duck  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  murmured. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  tha'rt  a  warm  little  thing — tha 
loves  me,  eh  ?  "  . 

"  Yes,"  she  murmured,  and  he  pressed  her  to  him, 
and  kissed  her,  and  held  her  close. 


312       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  We'll  be  married  soon,  my  bird — are  ter  glad  ? — 
in  a  bit — tha'rt  glad,  aren't  ta  ?  " 

She  looked  up  at  him  as  if  he  were  noble.  Her 
love  for  him  was  so  generous  that  it  beautified  him. 

He  had  to  walk  his  bicycle  home,  being  unable  to 
ride ;  his  shins,  I  know,  were  a  good  deal  barked  by 
the  pedals. 


CHAPTER   VII 

THE    FASCINATION    OF    THE    FORBIDDEN   APPLE 

On  the  first  Sunday  in  June,  when  Lettie  knew  she 
would  keep  her  engagement  with  Leslie,  and  when 
she  was  having  a  day  at  home  from  Highclose,  she 
got  ready  to  go  down  to  the  mill.  We  were  in  mourn- 
ing for  an  aunt,  so  she  wore  a  dress  of  fine  black 
voile,  and  a  black  hat  with  long  feathers.  Then, 
when  I  looked  at  her  fair  hands,  and  her  arms  closely 
covered  in  the  long  black  cuffs  of  her  sleeves,  I  felt 
keenly  my  old  brother-love  shielding,  indulgent. 

It  was  a  windy,  sunny  day.  In  shelter  the  heat 
was  passionate,  but  in  the  open  the  wind  scattered  its 
fire.  Every  now  and  then  a  white  cloud  broad  based, 
blue  shadowed,  travelled  slowly  along  the  sky-road 
after  the  forerunner  small  in  the  distance,  and  trail- 
ing over  us  a  chill  shade,  a  gloom  which  we  watched 
creep  on  over  the  water,  over  the  wood  and  the  hill. 
These  royal,  rounded  clouds  had  sailed  all  day  along 
the  same  route,  from  the  harbour  of  the  South  to 
the  wastes  in  the  Northern  sky,  following  the  swift 
wild  geese.  The  brook  hurried  along  singing,  only 
here  and  there  lingering  to  whisper  to  the  secret 
bushes,  then  setting  off  afresh  with  a  new  snatch  of 
song. 

The  fowls  pecked  staidly  in  the  farmyard,  with 
Sabbath    decorum.      Occasionally    a    lost,    sportive 

313 


314       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

wind-puff  would  wander  across  the  yard  and  ruffle 
them,  and  they  resented  it.  The  pigs  were  asleep  in 
the  sun,  giving  faint  grunts  now  and  then  from  sheer 
luxury.  I  saw  a  squirrel  go  darting  down  the  mossy 
garden  wall,  up  into  the  laburnum  tree,  where  he  lay 
flat  along  the  bough,  and  listened.  Suddenly  away 
he  went,  chuckling  to  himself.  Gyp  all  at  once  set 
off  barking,  but  I  soothed  her  down;  it  was  the  un- 
usual sight  of  Lettie's  dark  dress  that  startled  her,  I 
suppose. 

We  went  quietly  into  the  kitchen.  Mrs.  Saxton 
was  just  putting  a  chicken,  wrapped  in  a  piece  of 
flannel,  on  the  warm  hob  to  coax  it  into  life ;  it  looked 
very  feeble.  George  was  asleep,  with  his  head  in  his 
arms  on  the  table ;  the  father  was  asleep  on  the  sofa, 
very  comfortable  and  admirable ;  I  heard  Emily  flee- 
ing up  stairs,  presumably  to  dress. 

"  He  stays  out  so  late — up  at  the  Earn  Inn,"  whis- 
pered the  mother  in  a  high  whisper,  looking  at 
George,  "  and  then  he's  up  at  five — he  doesn't  get  his 
proper  rest."  She  turned  to  the  chicks,  and  con- 
tinued in  her  whisper — "  the  mother  left  them  just 
before  they  hatched  out,  so  we've  been  bringing  them 
on  here.  This  one's  a  bit  weak — I  thought  I'd  hot 
him  up  a  bit n  she  laughed  with  a  quaint  little  frown 
of  deprecation.  Eight  or  nine  yellow,  fluffy  little 
mites  were  cheeping  and  scuffling  in  the  fender.  Let- 
tie  bent  over  them  to  touch  them;  they  were  tame, 
and  ran  among  her  fingers. 

Suddenly  George's  mother  gave  a  loud  cry,  and 
rushed  to  the  fire.  There  was  a  smell  of  singed 
down.  The  chicken  had  toddled  into  the  fire,  and 
gasped  its  faint  gasp  among  the  red-hot  cokes.     The 


THE    FORBIDDEN    APPLE    315 

father  jumped  from  the  sofa;  George  sat  up  with 
wide  eyes;  Lettie  gave  a  little  cry  and  a  shudder; 
Trip  rushed  round  and  began  to  bark.  There  was  a 
smell  of  cooked  meat. 

"  There  goes  number  one !  "  said  the  mother,  with 
her  queer  little  laugh.     It  made  me  laugh  too. 

"  What's  a  matter — what's  a  matter  ?  "  asked  the 
father  excitedly. 

"  It's  a  chicken  been  and  walked  into  the  fire — I 
put  it  on  the  hob  to  warm,"  explained  his  wife. 

"  Goodness — I  couldn't  think  what  was  up !  "  he 
said,  and  dropped  his  head  to  trace  gradually  the 
border  between  sleeping  and  waking. 

George  sat  and  smiled  at  us  faintly,  he  was  too 
dazed  to  speak.  His  chest  still  leaned  against  the 
table,  and  his  arms  were  spread  out  thereon,  but  he 
lifted  his  face,  and  looked  at  Lettie  with  his  dazed, 
dark  eyes,  and  smiled  faintly  at  her.  His  hair  was 
all  ruffled,  and  his  shirt  collar  unbuttoned.  Then  he 
got  up  slowly,  pushing  his  chair  back  with  a  loud 
noise,  and  stretched  himself,  pressing  his  arms  up- 
wards with  a  long,  heavy  stretch. 

"  Oh — h — h !  "  he  said,  bending  his  arms  and  then 
letting  them  drop  to  his  sides.  "  I  never  thought 
you'd  come  to-day." 

"  I  wanted  to  come  and  see  you — I  shan't  have 
many  more  chances,"  said  Lettie,  turning  from  him 
and  yet  looking  at  him  again. 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  he  said,  subsiding  into  quiet. 
Then  there  was  silence  for  some  time.  The  mother 
began  to  enquire  after  Leslie,  and  kept  the  conversa- 
tion up  till  Emily  came  down,  blushing  and  smiling 
and  glad. 


316      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  Are  you  coming  out  ?  "  said  she,  "  there  are  two 
or  three  robins'  nests,  and  a  spinkie's " 

"  I  think  I'll  leave  my  hat,"  said  Lettie,  unpin- 
ning it  as  she  spoke,  and  shaking  her  hair  when  she 
was  free.  Mrs.  Saxton  insisted  on  her  taking  a  long 
white  silk  scarf;  Emily  also  wrapped  her  hair  in  a 
gauze  scarf,  and  looked  beautiful. 

George  came  out  with  us,  coatless,  hatless,  his 
waistcoat  all  unbuttoned,  as  he  was.  We  crossed  the 
orchard,  over  the  old  bridge,  and  went  to  where  the 
slopes  ran  down  to  the  lower  pond,  a  bank  all  covered 
with  nettles,  and  scattered  with  a  hazel  bush  or  two. 
Among  the  nettles  old  pans  were  rusting,  and  old 
coarse  pottery  cropped  up. 

We  came  upon  a  kettle  heavily  coated  with  lime. 
Emily  bent  down  and  looked,  and  then  we  peeped  in. 
There  were  the  robin  birds  with  their  yellow  beaks 
stretched  so  wide  apart  I  feared  they  would  never 
close  them  again.  Among  the  naked  little  mites,  that 
begged  from  us  so  blindly  and  confidently,  were  hud- 
dled three  eggs. 

"  They  are  like  Irish  children  peeping  out  of  a 
cottage,"  said  Emily,  with  the  family  fondness  for 
romantic  similes. 

We  went  on  to  where  a  tin  lay  with  the  lid  pressed 
back,  and  inside  it,  snug  and  neat,  was  another  nest, 
with  six  eggs,  cheek  to  cheek. 

"  How  warm  they  are,"  said  Lettie,  touching  them, 
"  you  can  fairly  feel  the  mother's  breast." 

He  tried  to  put  his  hand  into  the  tin,  but  the  space 
was  too  small,  and  they  looked  into  each  other's  eyes 
and  smiled.  "You'd  think  the  father's  breast  had 
marked  them  with  red,"  said  Emily. 


THE    FORBIDDEN   APPLE    317 

As  we  went  up  the  orchard  side  we  saw  three  wide 
displays  of  coloured  pieces  of  pots  arranged  at  the 
foot  of  three  trees. 

"  Look,"  said  Emily,  "  those  are  the  children's 
houses.  You  don't  know  how  our  Mollie  gets  all 
Sam's  pretty  bits — she  is  a  cajoling  hussy !  " 

The  two  looked  at  each  other  again,  smiling.  Up 
on  the  pond-side,  in  the  full  glitter  of  light,  we 
looked  round  where  the  blades  of  clustering  corn  were 
softly  healing  the  red  bosom  of  the  hill.  The  larks 
were  overhead  among  the  sunbeams.  We  straggled 
away  across  the  grass.  The  field  was  all  afroth  with 
cowslips,  a  yellow,  glittering,  shaking  froth  on  the 
still  green  of  the  grass.  We  trailed  our  shadows 
across  the  fields,  extinguishing  the  sunshine  on  the 
flowers  as  we  went.  The  air  was  tingling  with  the 
scent  of  blossoms. 

"  Look  at  the  cowslips,  all  shaking  with  laughter," 
said  Emily,  and  she  tossed  back  her  head,  and  her 
dark  eyes  sparkled  among  the  flow  of  gauze.  Lettie 
was  on  in  front,  flitting  darkly  across  the  field,  bend- 
ing over  the  flowers,  stooping  to  the  earth  like  a  sable 
Persephone  come  into  freedom.  George  had  left  her 
at  a  little  distance,  hunting  for  something  in  the 
grass.  He  stopped,  and  remained  standing  in  one 
place. 

Gradually,  as  if  unconsciously,  she  drew  near  to 
him,  and  when  she  lifted  her  head,  after  stoop- 
ing to  pick  some  chimney-sweeps,  little  grass  flow- 
ers, she  laughed  witE  a  slight  surprise  to  see  him 
so  near. 

"  Ah !  "  she  said.  "  I  thought  I  was  all  alone  in 
the  world — such  a  splendid  world — it  was  so  nice." 


318      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  Like  Eve  in  a  meadow  in  Eden — and  Adam's 
shadow  somewhere  on  the  grass,"  said  I. 

"  ISTo — no  Adam,"  she  asserted,  frowning  slightly, 
and  laughing. 

"  Who  ever  would  want  streets  of  gold,"  Emily 
was  saying  to  me,  "when  you  can  have  a  field  of  cow- 
slips !  Look  at  that  hedgebottom  that  gets  the  South 
sun — one  stream  and  glitter  of  buttercups." 

"  Those  Jews  always  had  an  eye  to  the  filthy  lucre 
— they  even  made  Heaven  out  of  it,"  laughed  Lettie, 
and,  turning  to  him,  she  said,  "  Don't  you  wish  we 
were  wild — hark,  like  wood-pigeons — or  larks — or, 
look,  like  peewits?  Shouldn't  you  love  flying  and 
wheeling  and  sparkling  and — courting  in  the  wind  ? " 
She  lifted  her  eyelids,  and  vibrated  the  question. 
He  flushed,  bending  over  the  ground. 

"  Look,"  he  said,  "  here's  a  larkie's." 

Once  a  horse  had  left  a  hoofprint  in  the  soft 
meadow;  now  the  larks  had  rounded,  softened  the 
cup,  and  had  laid  there  three  dark-brown  eggs.  Let- 
tie  sat  down  and  leaned  over  the  nest;  he  leaned 
above  her.  The  wind  running  over  the  flower  heads, 
peeped  in  at  the  little  brown  buds,  and  bounded  off 
again  gladly.  The  big  clouds  sent  messages  to  them 
down  the  shadows,  and  ran  in  raindrops  to  touch 
them. 

"I  wish,"  she  said,  "I  wish  we  were  free  like 
that.  If  we  could  put  everything  safely  in  a  little 
place  in  the  earth — couldn't  we  have  a  good  time  as 
well  as  the  larks  ? " 

"  I  don't  see,"  said  he,  "  why  we  can't." 

"Oh — but  I  can't — you  know  we  can't" — and 
sHe  looked  at  him  fiercely. 


THE    FORBIDDEN   APPLE    319 

"  Why  can't  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  know  we  can't — you  know  as  well  as  I  do," 
she  replied,  and  her  whole  soul  challenged  him. 
"  We  have  to  consider  things "  she  added.  He 
dropped  his  head.  He  was  afraid  to  make  the  strug- 
gle, to  rouse  himself  to  decide  the  question  for  her. 
She  turned  away,  and  went  kicking  through  the  flow- 
ers. He  picked  up  the  blossoms  she  had  left  by  the 
nest — they  were  still  warm  from  her  hands — and 
followed  her.  She  walked  on  towards  the  end  of  the 
field,  the  long  strands  of  her  white  scarf  running 
before  her.  Then  she  leaned  back  to  the  wind,  while 
he  caught  her  up. 

"  Don't  you  want  your  flowers  ?"  he  asked  humbly. 

"  No,  thanks — they'd  be  dead  before  I  got  home — 
throw  them  away,  you  look  absurd  with  a  posy." 

He  did  as  he  was  bidden.  They  came  near  the 
hedge.  A  crab-apple  tree  blossomed  up  among  the 
blue. 

"  You  may  get  me  a  bit  of  that  blossom,"  said  she, 
and  suddenly  added — "no,  I  can  reach  it  myself," 
whereupon  she  stretched  upward  and  pulled  several 
sprigs  of  the  pink  and  white,  and  put  it  in  her  dress. 

"  Isn't  it  pretty  % "  she  said,  and  she  began  to 
laugh  ironically,  pointing  to  the  flowers — "  pretty, 
pink-cheeked  petals,  and  stamens  like  yellow  hair, 
and  buds  like  lips  promising  something  nice  " — she 
stopped,  and  looked  at  him,  flickering  with  a  smile. 
Then  she  pointed  to  the  ovary  beneath  the  flower,  and 
said :  "  Kesult :  Crab-apples !  " 

She  continued  to  look  at  him,  and  to  smile.  He 
said  nothing.  So  they  went  on  to  where  they  could 
climb  the  fence  into  the  spinney.     She  climbed  to 


320       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

the  top  rail,  holding  by  an  oak  bough.  Then  she  let 
him  lift  her  down  bodily. 

"  Ah  !  "  she  said,  "  you  like  to  show  me  how  strong 
you  are — a  veritable  Samson !  " — she  mocked,  al- 
though she  had  invited  him  with  her  eyes  to  take  her 
in  his  arms. 

We  were  entering  the  spinney  of  black  poplar.  In 
the  hedge  was  an  elm  tree,  with  myriads  of  dark 
dots  pointed  against  the  bright  sky,  myriads  of  clus- 
ters of  flaky  green  fruit. 

"  Look  at  that  elm,"  she  said,  "  you'd  think  it  was 
in  full  leaf,  wouldn't  you?  Do  you  know  why  it's 
so  prolific  ? " 

"  No,"  he  said,  with  a  curious  questioning  drawl 
of  the  monosyllable. 

"  It's  casting  it's  bread  upon  the  winds — no,  it  is 
dying,  so  it  puts  out  all  its  strength  and  loads  its 
boughs  with  the  last  fruit.  It'll  be  dead  next  year. 
If  you're  here  then,  come  and  see.  Look  at  the  ivy, 
the  suave  smooth  ivy,  with  its  fingers  in  the  trees' 
throat.     Trees  know  how  to  die,  you  see — we  don't." 

With  her  whimsical  moods  she  tormented  him.. 
She  was  at  the  bottom  a  seething  confusion  of  emo 
tion,  and  she  wanted  to  make  him  likewise. 

"  If  we  were  trees  with  ivy — instead  of  being  fine 
humans  with  free  active  life — we  should  hug  our 
thinning  lives,  shouldn't  we  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  we  should." 

"  You,  for  instance — fancy  your  sacrificing  your- 
self— for  the  next  generation — that  reminds  you  of 
Schopenhauer,  doesn't  it? — for  the  next  generation, 
or  love,  or  anything !  " 

He  did  not  answer  her ;  she  was  too  swift  for  him. 


THE    FORBIDDEN    APPLE    321 

They  passed  on  under  the  poplars,  which  were  hang- 
ing strings  of  green  heads  above  them.  There  was 
a  little  open  space,  with  tufts  of  bluebells.  Lettie 
stooped  over  a  wood-pigeon  that  lay  on  the  ground 
on  its  breast,  its  wings  half  spread.  She  took  it  up 
— its  eyes  were  bursten  and  bloody;  she  felt  its 
breast,  ruffling  the  dimming  iris  on  its  throat. 

"  It's  been  fighting,"  he  said. 

"  What  for — a  mate  I  "  she  asked,  looking  at  him. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered. 

"  Cold — he's  quite  cold,  under  the  feathers !  I 
think  a  wood-pigeon  must  enjoy  being  fought  for — 
and  being  won;  especially  if  the  right  one  won.  It 
would  be  a  fine  pleasure,  to  see  them  fighting — don't 
you  think  ?  "  she  said,  torturing  him. 

"  The  claws  are  spread — it  fell  dead  off  the  perch," 
he  replied. 

"  Ah,  poor  thing — it  was  wounded — and  sat  and 
waited  for  death — when  the  other  had  won.  Don't 
you  think  life  is  very  cruel,  George — and  love  the 
cruellest  of  all  ?  " 

He  laughed  bitterly  under  the  pain  of  her  soft, 
sad  tones. 

"  Let  me  bury  him — and  have  done  with  the 
beaten  lover.     But  we'll  make  him  a  pretty  grave." 

She  scooped  a  hole  in  the  dark  soil,  and  snatching 
a  handful  of  bluebells,  threw  them  in  on  top  of  the 
dead  bird.  Then  she  smoothed  the  soil  over  all,  and 
pressed  her  white  hands  on  the  black  loam. 

"  There,"  she  said,  knocking  her  hands  one  against 
the  other  to  shake  off  the  soil,  "  he's  done  with. 
Come  on." 

He  followed  her,  speechless  with  his  emotion. 


322      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

The  spinney  opened  out;  the  ferns  were  serenely 
uncoiling,  the  bluebells  stood  grouped  with  blue  curls 
mingled.  In  the  freer  spaces  forget-me-nots  flowered 
in  nebulae,  and  dog-violets  gave  an  undertone  of 
dark  purple,  with  primroses  for  planets  in  the  night. 
There  was  a  slight  drift  of  woodruff,  sweet  new- 
mown  hay,  scenting  the  air  under  the  boughs.  On  a 
wet  bank  was  the  design  of  golden  saxifrage,  glisten- 
ing unholily  as  if  varnished  by  its  minister,  the  snail. 
George  and  Lettie  crushed  the  veined  belles  of  wood- 
sorrel  and  broke  the  silken  mosses.  What  did  it  mat- 
ter to  them  what  they  broke  or  crushed. 

Over  the  fence  of  the  spinney  was  the  hillside, 
scattered  with  old  thorn  trees.  There  the  little  grey 
lichens  held  up  ruby  balls  to  us  unnoticed.  What 
did  it  matter,  when  all  the  great  red  apples  were 
being  shaken  from  the  Tree  to  be  left  to  rot. 

"  If  I  were  a  man,"  said  Lettie,  "  I  would  go  out 
west  and  be  free.    I  should  love  it." 

She  took  the  scarf  from  her  head  and  let  it  wave 
out  on  the  wind;  the  colour  was  warm  in  her  face 
with  climbing,  and  her  curls  were  freed  by  the  wind, 
sparkling  and  rippling." 

"  Well — you're  not  a  man,"  he  said,  looking  at 
her,  and  speaking  with  timid  bitterness. 

"  No,"  she  laughed,  "  if  I  were,  I  would  shape 
things — oh,  wouldn't  I  have  my  own  way !  " 

"  And  don't  you  now  ?  " 

"  Oh — I  don't  want  it  particularly — when  I've  got 
it.  When  I've  had  my  way,  I  do  want  somebody  to 
take  it  back  from  me." 

She  put  her  head  back,  and  looked  at  him  side- 
ways, laughing  through  the  glitter  of  her  hair. 


THE    FORBIDDEN    APPLE    323 

They  came  to  the  kennels.  She  sat  down  on  the 
edge  of  the  great  stone  water  trough,  and  put  her 
hands  in  the  water,  moving  them  gently  like  sub- 
merged flowers  through  the  clear  pool. 

"  I  love  to  see  myself  in  the  water,"  she  said,  "  I 
don't  mean  on  the  water,  Narcissus — but  that's  how 
I  should  like  to  be  out  west,  to  have  a  little  lake  of 
my  own,  and  swim  with  my  limbs  quite  free  in  the 
water." 

"  Do  you  swim  well  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Fairly." 

"  I  would  race  you — in  your  little  lake." 

She  laughed,  took  her  hands  out  of  the  water,  and 
watched  the  clear  drops  trickle  off.  Then  she  lifted 
her  head  suddenly,  at  some  thought  or  other.  She 
looked  across  the  valley,  and  saw  the  red  roofs  of 
the  Mill. 

" — Ilion,  lion 
Fatalis  incestusque  judex 
Et  mulier  peregrina  vertit. 
In  pulverem " 

"What's  that?"  he. said. 

"  Nothing." 

"  That's  a  private  trough,"  exclaimed  a  thin  voice, 
high  like  a  peewit's  cry.  We  started  in  surprise  to 
see  a  tall,  black-bearded  man  looking  at  us  and  away 
from  us  nervously,  fidgeting  uneasily  some  ten  yards 
off. 

"  Is  it  ? "  said  Lettie,  looking  at  her  wet  hands, 
which  she  proceeded  to  dry  on  a  fragment  of  a  hand- 
kerchief. 

"  You  mustn't  meddle  with  it,"  said  the  man,  in 
the  same  reedy,  oboe  voice.    Then  he  turned  his  head 


324      THE    WHITE   PEACOCK 

away,  and  his  pale  grey  eyes  roved  the  countrysid< 
when  he  had  courage,  he  turned  his  back  to  us,  shad- 
ing his  eyes  to  continue  his  scrutiny.  He  walked 
hurriedly,  a  few  steps,  then  craned  his  neck,  peering 
into  the  valley,  and  hastened  a  dozen  yards  in  an- 
other direction,  again  stretching  and  peering  about. 
Then  he  went  indoors. 

"  He  is  pretending  to  look  for  somebody,"  said 
Lettie,  "  but  it's  only  because  he's  afraid  we  shall 
think  he  came  out  just  to  look  at  us  " — and  they 
laughed. 

Suddenly  a  woman  appeared  at  the  gate ;  she  had 
pale  eyes  like  the  mouse-voiced  man. 

"  You'll  get  Bright's  disease  sitting  on.  that  there 
damp  stone,"  she  said  to  Lettie,  who  at  once  rose 
apologetically. 

"  I  ought  to  know,"  continued  the  mouse-voiced 
woman,  "  my  own  mother  died  of  it." 

"  Indeed,"  murmured  Lettie,  "  I'm  sorry." 

"  Yes,"  continued  the  woman,  "  it  behooves  you  to 
be  careful.  Do  you  come  from  Strelley  Mill 
Farm  ?  "  she  asked  suddenly  of  George,  surveying 
his  shameful  deshabille  with  bitter  reproof. 

He  admitted  the  imputation. 

"  And  you're  going  to  leave,  aren't  you  ? " 

Which  also  he  admitted. 

"  Humph ! — we  s'll  'appen  get  some  neighbours. 
It's  a  dog's  life  for  loneliness.  I  suppose  you  knew 
the  last  lot  that  was  here." 

Another  brief  admission. 

"  A  dirty  lot — a  dirty  beagle  she  must  have  been. 
You  should  just  ha'  seen  these  grates." 

"  Yes,"  said  Lettie,  "  I  have  seen  them." 


THE    FORBIDDEN    APPLE    325 

"  Faugh — the  state !  But  come  in — come  in, 
you'll  see  a  difference." 

They  entered,  out  of  curiosity. 

The  kitchen  was  indeed  different.  It  was  clean 
and  sparkling,  warm  with  bright  red  chintzes  on  the 
sofa  and  on  every  chair  cushion.  Unfortunately  the 
effect  was  spoiled  by  green  and  yellow  antimac- 
cassars,  and  by  a  profusion  of  paper  and  woollen 
flowers.  There  were  three  cases  of  woollen  flowers, 
and  on  the  wall,  four  fans  stitched  over  with  ruf- 
fled green  and  yellow  paper,  adorned  with  yellow 
paper  roses,  carnations,  arum  lilies,  and  poppies; 
there  were  also  wall  pockets  full  of  paper  flowers; 
while  the  wood  outside  was  loaded  with  blossom. 

"  Yes,"  said  Lettie,  "  there  is  a  difference." 

The  woman  swelled,  and  looked  round.  The 
black-bearded  man  peeped  from  behind  the  Christian 
Herald — those  long  blaring  trumpets! — and  shrank 
again.  The  woman  darted  at  his  pipe,  which  he  had 
put  on  a  piece  of  newspaper  on  the  hob,  and  blew 
some  imaginary  ash  from  it.  Then  she  caught  sight 
of  something — perhaps  some  dust — on  the  fireplace. 

"  There !  "  she  cried,  "  I  knew  it ;  I  couldn't  leave 
him  one  second!  I  haven't  work  enough  burning 
wood,  but  he  must  be  poke poke " 

"  I  only  pushed  a  piece  in  between  the  bars,"  com- 
plained the  mouse-voice  from  behind  the  paper. 

"  Pushed  a  piece  in !  "  she  re-echoed,  with  awful 
scorn,  seizing  the  poker  and  thrusting  it  over  his 
paper.  "  What  do  you  call  that,  sitting  there  tell- 
ing your  stories  before  folks " 

They  crept  out  and  hurried  away.  Glancing 
round,  Lettie  saw  the  woman  mopping  the  doorstep 


326       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

after  thein,  and  she  laughed.  He  pulled  his  watch 
out  of  his  breeches'  pocket;  it  was  half -past  three. 

"  What  are  you  looking  at  the  time  for  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  Meg's  coming  to  tea,"  he  replied. 

She  said  no  more,  and  they  walked  slowly  on. 

When  they  came  on  to  the  shoulder  of  the  hill,  and 
looked  down  on  to  the  mill,  and  the  mill-pond,  she 
said: 

"  I  will  not  come  down  with  you — I  will  go  home." 

"  Not  come  down  to  tea !  "  he  exclaimed,  full  of 
reproach  and  amazement.  "  Why,  what  will  they 
say?" 

"  No,  I  won't  come  down — let  me  say  farewell 
— 'jamque  Vale!  Do  you  remember  how  Eurydice 
sank  back  into  Hell  ?  " 

"  But  " — he  stammered,  "  you  must  come  down 
to  tea — how  can  I  tell  them?  Why  won't  you 
come  ? " 

She  answered  him  in  Latin,  with  two  lines  from 
Virgil.  As  she  watched  him,  she  pitied  his  helpless- 
ness, and  gave  him  a  last  cut  as  she  said,  very  softly 
and  tenderly: 

"  It  wouldn't  be  fair  to  Meg." 

He  stood  looking  at  her;  his  face  was  coloured 
only  by  the  grey-brown  tan ;  his  eyes,  the  dark,  self- 
mistrustful  eyes  of  the  family,  were  darker  than 
ever,  dilated  with  misery  of  helplessness;  and  she 
was  infinitely  pitiful.  She  wanted  to  cry  in  her 
yearning. 

"  Shall  we  go  into  the  wood  for  a  few  minutes  ? " 
she  said,  in  a  low,  tremulous  voice,  as  they  turned 
aside. 


THE    FORBIDDEN   APPLE    327 

The  wood  was  high  and  warm.  Along  the  ridings 
the  forget-me-nots  were  knee  deep,  stretching,  glim- 
mering into  the  distance  like  the  Milky  Way  through 
the  night.  They  left  the  tall,  flower-tangled  paths 
to  go  in  among  the  bluebells,  breaking  through  the 
close-pressed  flowers  and  ferns  till  they  came  to  an 
oak  which  had  fallen  across  the  hazels,  where  they 
sat  half  screened.  The  hyacinths  drooped  magnifi- 
cently with  an  overweight  of  purple,  or  they  stood 
pale  and  erect,  like  unripe  ears  of  purple  corn. 
Heavy  bees  swung  down  in  a  blunder  of  extrava- 
gance among  the  purple  flowers.  They  were  intoxi- 
cated even  with  the  sight  of  so  much  blue.  The 
sound  of  their  hearty,  wanton  humming  came  clear 
upon  the  solemn  boom  of  the  wind  overhead.  The 
sight  of  their  clinging,  clambering  riot  gave  satis- 
faction to  the  soul.  A  rosy  campion  flower  caught 
the  sun  and  shone  out.  An  elm  sent  down  a  shower 
of  flesh-tinted  sheaths  upon  them. 

"  If  there  were  fauns  and  hamadryads !  "  she  said 
softly,  turning  to  him  to  soothe  his  misery.  She 
took  his  cap  from  his  head,  ruffled  his  hair,  saying: 

"  If  you  were  a  faun,  I  would  put  guelder  roses 
round  your  hair,  and  make  you  look  Bacchanalian." 
She  left  her  hand  lying  on  his  knee,  and  looked  up 
at  the  sky.  Its  blue  looked  pale  and  green  in  com- 
parison with  the  purple  tide  ebbing  about  the  wood. 
The  clouds  rose  up  like  towers,  and  something  had 
touched  them  into  beauty,  and  poised  them  up  among 
the  winds.  The  clouds  passed  on,  and  the  pool  of 
sky  was  clear. 

"  Look,"  she  said,  "  how  we  are  netted  down — 
boughs  with  knots  of  green  buds.    If  we  were  free 


328      THE    WHITE   PEACOCK 

on  the  winds! — But  I'm  glad  we're  not."  She 
turned  suddenly  to  him,  and  with  the  same  move- 
ment, she  gave  him  her  hand,  and  he  clasped  it  in 
both  his.  "  I'm  glad  we're  netted  down  here ;  if  we 
were  free  in  the  winds — Ah !  " 

She  laughed  a  peculiar  little  laugh,  catching  her 
breath. 

"  Look !  "  she  said,  "  it's  a  palace,  with  the  ash- 
trunks  smooth  like  a  girl's  arm,  and  the  elm-col- 
umns, ribbed  and  bossed  and  fretted,  with  the  great 
steel  shafts  of  beech,  all  rising  up  to  hold  an  embroi- 
dered care-cloth  over  us ;  and  every  thread  of  the  care- 
cloth  vibrates  with  music  for  us,  and  the  little 
broidered  birds  sing ;  and  the  hazel-bushes  fling  green 
spray  round  us,  and  the  honeysuckle  leans  down  to 
pour  out  scent  over  us.  Look  at  the  harvest  of  blue- 
bells— ripened  for  us!  Listen  to  the  bee,  sound- 
ing among  all  the  organ-play — if  he  sounded  ex- 
ultant for  us !  "  She  looked  at  him,  with  tears  com- 
ing up  into  her  eyes,  and  a  little,  winsome,  wistful 
smile  hovering  round  her  mouth.  He  was  very  pale, 
and  dared  not  look  at  her.  She  put  her  hand  in  his, 
leaning  softly  against  him.  He  watched,  as  if  fas- 
cinated, a  young  thrush  with  full  pale  breast  who 
hopped  near  to  look  at  them — glancing  with  quick, 
shining  eyes. 

"  The  clouds  are  going  on  again,"  said  Lettie. 

"  Look  at  that  cloud  face — see — gazing  right  up 
into  the  sky.  The  lips  are  opening — he  is  telling  us 
something. — now  the  form  is  slipping  away — it's 
gone — come,  we  must  go  too." 

"  No,"  he  cried,  "  don't  go — don't  go  away." 

Her  tenderness  made  her  calm.     She  replied  in 


THE    FORBIDDEN   APPLE    329 

a  voice  perfect  in  restrained  sadness  and  resigna- 
tion. 

"  No,  my  dear,  no.  The  threads  of  my  life  were 
untwined ;  they  drifted  about  like  floating  threads  of 
gossamer ;  and  you  didn't  put  out  your  hand  to  take 
them  and  twist  them  up  into  the  chord  with  yours. 
Now  another  has  caught  them  up,  and  the  chord  of 
my  life  is  being  twisted,  and  I  cannot  wrench  it  free 
and  untwine  it  again — I  can't.  I  am  not  strong 
enough.  Besides,  you  have  twisted  another  thread 
far  and  tight  into  your  chord ;  could  you  get  free  ? " 

"  Tell  me  what  to  do — yes,  if  you  tell  me." 

"  I  can't  tell  you — so  let  me  go." 

"  No,  Lettie,"  he  pleaded,  with  terror  and  humil- 
ity. "  No,  Lettie ;  don't  go.  What  should  I  do  with 
my  life?  Nobody  would  love  you  like  I  do — and 
what  should  I  do  with  my  love  for  you? — hate  it 
and  fear  it,  because  it's  too  much  for  me  ?  " 

She  turned  and  kissed  him  gratefully.  He  then 
took  her  in  a  long,  passionate  embrace,  mouth  to 
mouth.  In  the  end  it  had  so  wearied  her,  that  she 
could  only  wait  in  his  arms  till  he  was  too  tired  to 
hold  her.     He  was  trembling  already. 

"  Poor  Meg !  "  she  murmured  to  herself  dully,  her 
sensations  having  become  vague. 

He  winced,  and  the  pressure  of  his  arms  slack- 
ened. She  loosened  his  hands,  and  rose  half  dazed 
from  her  seat  by  him.  She  left  him,  while  he  sat 
dejected,  raising  no  protest. 

When  I  went  out  to  look  for  them,  when  tea  had 
already  been  waiting  on  the  table  .half  an  hour  or 
more,  I  found  him  leaning  against  the  gatepost  at 


330      THE    WHITE   PEACOCK 

the  bottom  of  the  hill.  There  was  no  blood  in  his 
face,  and  his  tan  showed  livid;  he  was  haggard  as 
if  he  had  been  ill  for  some  weeks. 

"  Whatever's  the  matter  ?  "  I  said.  "  Where's  Let- 
tie?" 

"  She's  gone  home,"  he  answered,  and  the  sound 
of  his  own  voice,  and  the  meaning  of  his  own  words 
made  him  heave. 

"Why?"  I  asked  in  alarm. 

He  looked  at  me  as  if  to  say  "  What  are  you  talk- 
ing about  ?    I  cannot  listen !  " 

"Why?"  I  insisted. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied. 

"  They  are  waiting  tea  for  you,"  I  said. 

He  heard  me,  but  took  no  notice. 

"  Come  on,"  I  repeated,  "  there's  Meg  and  every- 
body waiting  tea  for  you." 

"  I  don't  want  any,"  he  said. 

I  waited  a  minute  or  two.    He  was  violently  sick. 
"  Vae  meum 
Fervens  difficile  "bile  tumet  jecur  " 

I  thought  to  myself. 

When  the  sickness  passed  over,  he  stood  up  away 
from  the  post,  trembling,  and  lugubrious.  His  eye- 
lids drooped  heavily  over  his  eyes,  and  he  looked  at 
me,  and  smiled  a  faint,  sick  smile. 

"  Come  and  lie  down  in  the  loft,"  I  said,  "  and  I'll 
tell  them  you've  got  a  bilious  bout." 

He  obeyed  me,  not  having  energy  to  question ;  his 
strength  had  gone,  and  his  splendid  physique  seemed 
shrunken ;  he  walked  weakly.  I  looked  away  from 
him,  for  in  his  feebleness  he  was  already  beginning 
to  feel  ludicrous. 


THE    FORBIDDEN   APPLE    331 

We  got  into  the  barn  unperceived,  and  I  watched 
him  climb  the  ladder  to  the  loft.  Then  I  went  in- 
doors to  tell  them. 

I  told  them  Lettie  had  promised  to  be  at  Highclose 
for  tea,  that  George  had  a  bilious  attack,  and  was 
mooning  about  the  barn  till  it  was  over ;  he  had  been 
badly  sick.  We  ate  tea  without  zest  or  enjoyment. 
Meg  was  wistful  and  ill  at  ease ;  the  father  talked  to 
her  and  made  much  of  her ;  the  mother  did  not  care 
for  her  much. 

"  I  can't  understand  it,"  said  the  mother,  "  he 
so  rarely  has  anything  the  matter  with  him — why, 
I've  hardly  known  the  day !  Are  you  sure  it's  noth- 
ing serious,  Cyril  ?  It  seems  such  a  thing — and  just 
when  Meg  happened  to  be  down — just  when  Meg  was 
coming !  " 

About  half-past  six  I  had  again  to  go  and  look 
for  him,  to  satisfy  the  anxiety  of  his  mother  and  his 
sweetheart.  I  went  whistling  to  let  him  know  I  was 
coming.  He  lay  on  a  pile  of  hay  in  a  corner,  asleep. 
He  had  put  his  cap  under  his  head  to  stop  the  tick- 
ling of  the  hay,  and  he  lay  half  curled  up,  sleeping 
soundly.  He  was  still  very  pale,  and  there  was  on 
his  face  the  repose  and  pathos  that  a  sorrow  always 
leaves.  As  he  wore  no  coat  I  was  afraid  he  might 
be  chilly,  so  I  covered  him  up  with  a  couple  of 
sacks,  and  I  left  him.  I  would  not  have  him  dis- 
turbed— I  helped  the  father  about  the  cowsheds,  and 
with  the  pigs. 

Meg  had  to  go  at  half-past  seven.  She  was  so 
disappointed  that  I  said: 

"  Come  and  have  a  look  at  him — I'll  tell  him  you 
did." 


332       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

He  had  thrown  off  the  sacks,  and  spread  out  his 
limbs.  As  he  lay  on  his  back,  flung  out  on  the  hay, 
he  looked  big  again,  and  manly.  His  mouth  had  re- 
laxed, and  taken  its  old,  easy  lines.  One  felt  for 
him  now  the  warmth  one  feels  for  anyone  who  sleeps 
in  an  attitude  of  abandon.  She  leaned  over  him, 
and  looked  at  him  with  a  little  rapture  of  love  and 
tenderness;  she  longed  to  caress  him.  Then  he 
stretched  himself,  and  his  eyes  opened.  Their  sud- 
den unclosing  gave  her  a  thrill.  He  smiled  sleepily, 
and  murmured,  "  Alio,  Meg !  "  Then  I  saw  him 
awake.  As  he  remembered,  he  turned  with  a  great 
sighing  yawn,  hid  his  face  again,  and  lay  still. 

"  Come  along,  Meg,"  I  whispered,  "  he'll  be  best 
asleep." 

"  I'd  better  cover  him  up,"  she  said,  taking  the 
sack  and  laying  it  very  gently  over  his  shoulders. 
He  kept  perfectly  still,  while  I  drew  her  away. 


CHAPTER   VIII 


A    POEM    OF    FRIENDSHIP 


The  magnificent  promise  of  spring  was  broken  be- 
fore the  May-blossom  was  fully  out.  All  through  the 
beloved  month  the  wind  rushed  in  upon  us  from  the 
north  and  north-east,  bringing  the  rain  fierce  and 
heavy.  The  tender-budded  trees  shuddered  and 
moaned;  when  the  wind  was  dry,  the  young  leaves 
flapped  limp.  The  grass  and  corn  grew  lush,  but 
the  light  of  the  dandelions  was  quite  extinguished, 
and  it  seemed  that  only  a  long  time  back  had  we 
made  merry  before  the  broad  glare  of  these  flowers. 
The  bluebells  lingered  and  lingered ;  they  fringed  the 
fields  for  weeks  like  purple  fringe  of  mourning. 
The  pink  campions  came  out  only  to  hang  heavy  with 
rain;  hawthorn  buds  remained  tight  and  hard  as 
pearls,  shrinking  into  the  brilliant  green  foliage ;  the 
forget-me-nots,  the  poor  pleiades  of  the  wood,  were 
ragged  weeds.  Often  at  the  end  of  the  day,  the  sky 
opened,  and  stately  clouds  hung  over  the  horizon  in- 
finitely far  away,  glowing,  through  the  yellow  dis- 
tance, with  an  amber  lustre.  They  never  came  any 
nearer,  always  they  remained  far  off,  looking  calmly 
and  majestically  over  the  shivering  earth,  then  sad- 
dened, fearing  their  radiance  might  be  dimmed,  they 
drew  away,  and  sank  out  of  sight.  Sometimes,  to- 
wards sunset,  a  great  shield  stretched  dark  from  the 

383 


334      THE    WHITE   PEACOCK 

west  to  the  zenith,  tangling  the  light  along  its  edges. 
As  the  canopy  rose  higher,  it  broke,  dispersed,  and 
the  sky  was  primrose  coloured,  high  and  pale  above 
the  crystal  moon.  Then  the  cattle  crouched  among 
the  gorse,  distressed  by  the  cold,  while  the  long-billed 
snipe  nickered  round  high  overhead,  round  and 
round  in  great  circles,  seeming  to  carry  a  serpent 
from  its  throat,  and  crying  a  tragedy,  more  painful 
than  the  poignant  lamentations  and  protests  of  the 
peewits.  Following  these  evenings  came  mornings 
cold  and  grey. 

Such  a  morning  I  went  up  to  George,  on  the  top 
fallow.  His  father  was  out  with  the  milk — he  was 
alone ;  as  I  came  up  the  hill  I  could  see  him  standing 
in  the  cart,  scattering  manure  over  the  bare  red 
fields;  I  could  hear  his  voice  calling  now  and  then 
to  the  mare,  and  the  creak  and  clank  of  the  cart  as 
it  moved  on.  Starlings  and  smart  wagtails  were 
runing  briskly  over  the  clods,  and  many  little  birds 
flashed,  fluttered,  hopped  here  and  there.  The  lap- 
wings wheeled  and  cried  as  ever  between  the  low 
clouds  and  the  earth,  and  some  ran  beautifully  among 
the  furrows,  too  graceful  and  glistening  for  the  rough 
field. 

I  took  a  fork  and  scattered  the  manure  along  the 
hollows,  and  thus  we  worked,  with  a  wide  field  be- 
tween us,  yet  very  near  in  the  sense  of  intimacy.  I 
watched  him  through  the  wheeling  peewits,  as  the 
low  clouds  went  stealthily  overhead.  Beneath  us, 
the  spires  of  the  poplars  in  the  spinney  were  warm 
gold,  as  if  the  blood  shone  through.  Further  gleamed 
the  grey  water,  and  below  it  the  red  roofs.  Nether- 
mere  was  half  hidden,  and  far  away.     There  was 


A   POEM    OF    FRIENDSHIP    335 

nothing  in  this  grey,  lonely  world  but  the  peewits 
swinging  and  crying,  and  George  swinging  silently 
at  his  work.  The  movement  of  active  life  held  all 
my  attention,  and  when  I  looked  up,  it  was  to  see 
the  motion  of  his  limbs  and  his  head,  the  rise  and 
fall  of  his  rhythmic  body,  and  the  rise  and  fall  of 
the  slow  waving  peewits.  After  a  while,  when  the 
cart  was  empty,  he  took  a  fork  and  came  towards  me, 
working  at  my  task. 

It  began  to  rain,  so  he  brought  a  sack  from  the 
cart,  and  we  crushed  ourselves  under  the  thick  hedge. 
We  sat  close  together  and  watched  the  rain  fall  like 
a  grey  striped  curtain  before  us,  hiding  the  valley; 
we  watched  it  trickle  in  dark  streams  off  the  mare's 
back,  as  she  stood  dejectedly;  we  listened  to  the 
swish  of  the  drops  falling  all  about ;  we  felt  the  chill 
of  the  rain,  and  drew  ourselves  together  in  silence. 
He  smoked  his  pipe,  and  I  lit  a  cigarette.  The  rain 
continued;  all  the  little  pebbles  and  the  red  earth 
glistened  in  the  grey  gloom.  We  sat  together,  speak- 
ing occasionally.  It  was  at  these  times  we  formed 
the  almost  passionate  attachment  which  later  years 
slowly  wore  away. 

When  the  rain  was  over,  we  filled  our  buckets  with 
potatoes,  and  went  along  the  wet  furrows,  sticking 
the  spritted  tubers  in  the  cold  ground.  Being  sandy, 
the  field  dried  quickly.  About  twelve  o'clock,  when 
nearly  all  the  potatoes  were  set,  he  left  me,  and 
fetching  up  Bob  from  the  far  hedge-side,  harnessed 
the  mare  and  him  to  the  ridger,  to  cover  the  pota- 
toes. The  sharp  light  plough  turned  the  soil  in  a 
fine  furrow  over  the  potatoes;  hosts  of  little  birds 
fluttered,  settled,  bounded  off  again  after  the  plough. 


336      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

He  called  to  the  horses,  and  they  came  downhill,  the 
white  stars  on  the  two  brown  noses  nodding  up  and 
down,  George  striding  firm  and  heavy  behind.  They 
came  down  upon  me ;  at  a  call  the  horses  turned,  shift- 
ing awkwardly  sideways ;  he  flung  himself  against  the 
plough,  and  leaning  well  in,  brought  it  round  with  a 
sweep :  a  click,  and  they  are  off  uphill  again.  There 
is  a  great  rustle  as  the  birds  sweep  round  after  him 
and  follow  up  the  new  turned  furrow.  Untackling 
the  horses  when  the  rows  were  all  covered,  we  tramped 
behind  them  down  the  wet  hillside  to  dinner. 

I  kicked  through  the  drenched  grass,  crushing  the 
withered  cowslips  under  my  clogs,  avoiding  the  purple 
orchids  that  were  stunted  with  harsh  upbringing,  but 
magnificent  in  their  powerful  colouring,  crushing  the 
pallid  lady  smocks,  the  washed-out  wild  gillivers.  I 
became  conscious  of  something  near  my  feet,  some- 
thing little  and  dark,  moving  indefinitely.  I  had 
found  again  the  larkie's  nest.  I  perceived  the  yellow 
beaks,  the  bulging  eyelids  of  two  tiny  larks,  and  the 
blue  lines  of  their  wing  quills.  The  indefinite  move- 
ment was  the  swift  rise  and  fall  of  the  brown  fledged 
backs,  over  which  waved  long  strands  of  fine  down. 
The  two  little  specks  of  birds  lay  side  by  side,  beak 
to  beak,  their  tiny  bodies  rising  and  falling  in  quick 
unison.  I  gently  put  down  my  fingers  to  touch  them ; 
they  were  warm ;  gratifying  to  find  them  warm,  in  the 
midst  of  so  much  cold  and  wet.  I  became  curiously 
absorbed  in  them,  as  an  eddy  of  wind  stirred  the 
strands  of  down.  When  one  fledgling  moved  un- 
easily, shifting  his  soft  ball,  I  was  quite  excited ;  but 
he  nestled  down  again,  with  his  head  close  to  his 
brother's.     In  my  heart  of  hearts,  I  longed  for  some- 


A   POEM    OF    FRIENDSHIP    337 

one  to  nestle  against,  someone  who  would  come  be- 
tween me  and  the  coldness  and  wetness  of  the  sur- 
roundings. I  envied  the  two  little  miracles  exposed 
to  any  tread,  yet  so  serene.  It  seemed  as  if  I  were 
always  wandering,  looking  for  something  which  they 
had  found  even  before  the  light  broke  into  their  shell. 
I  was  cold ;  the  lilacs  in  the  Mill  garden  looked  blue 
and  perished.  I  ran  with  my  heavy  clogs  and  my 
heart  heavy  with  vague  longing,  down  to  the  Mill, 
while  the  wind  blanched  the  sycamores,  and  pushed 
the  sullen  pines  rudely,  for  the  pines  were  sulking 
because  their  million  creamy  sprites  could  not  fly 
wet-winged.  The  horse-chestnuts  bravely  kept  their 
white  candles  erect  in  the  socket  of  every  bough, 
though  no  sun  came  to  light  them.  Drearily  a  cold 
swan  swept  up  the  water,  trailing  its  black  feet,  clack- 
ing its  great  hollow  wings,  rocking  the  frightened 
water  hens,  and  insulting  the  staid  black-necked 
geese.  What  did  I  want  that  I  turned  thus  from  one 
thing  to  another? 

At  the  end  of  June  the  weather  became  fine  again. 
Hay  harvest  was  to  begin  as  soon  as  it  settled.  There 
were  only  two  fields  to  be  mown  this  year,  to  provide 
just  enough  stuff  to  last  until  the  spring.  As  my 
vacation  had  begun  I  decided  I  would  help,  and  that 
we  three,  the  father,  George  and  I,  would  get  in  the 
hay  without  hired  assistance. 

I  rose  the  first  morning  very  early,  before  the  sun 
was  well  up.  The  clear  sound  of  challenging  cocks 
could  be  heard  along  the  valley.  In  the  bottoms, 
over  the  water  and  over  the  lush  wet  grass,  the  night 
mist  still  stood  white  and  substantial.     As  I  passed 


338      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

along  the  edge  of  the  meadow  the  cow-parsnip  was  as 
tall  as  I,  frothing  up  to  the  top  of  the  hedge,  putting 
the  faded  hawthorn  to  a  wan  blush.  Little,  early 
birds — I  had  not  heard  the  lark — fluttered  in  and  out 
of  the  foamy  meadow-sea,  plunging  under  the  surf 
of  flowers  washed  high  in  one  corner,  swinging  out 
again,  dashing  past  the  crimson  sorrel  cresset.  Under 
the  froth  of  flowers  were  the  purple  vetch-clumps, 
yellow  milk  vetches,  and  the  scattered  pink  of  the 
wood-betony,  and  the  floating  stars  of  marguerites. 
There  was  a  weight  of  honeysuckle  on  the  hedges, 
where  pink  roses  were  waking  up  for  their  broad- 
spread  flight  through  the  day. 

Morning  silvered  the  swaths  of  the  far  meadow, 
and  swept  in  smooth,  brilliant  curves  round  the  stones 
of  the  brook;  morning  ran  in  my  veins;  morning 
chased  the  silver,  darting  fish  out  of  the  depth,  and  I, 
who  saw  them,  snapped  my  fingers  at  them,  driving 
them  back. 

I  heard  Trip  barking,  so  I  ran  towards  the  pond. 
The  punt  was  at  the  island,  where  from  behind  the 
bushes  I  could  hear  George  whistling.  I  called  to 
him,  and  he  came  to  the  water's  edge  half  dressed. 

"  Fetch  a  towel,"  he  called,  "  and  come  on." 

I  was  back  in  a  few  moments,  and  there  stood  my 
Charon  fluttering  in  the  cool  air.  One  good  push 
sent  us  to  the  islet.  I  made  haste  to  undress,  for  he 
was  ready  for  the  water,  Trip  dancing  round,  barking 
with  excitement  at  his  new  appearance. 

"  He  wonders  what's  happened  to  me,"  he  said, 
laughing,  pushing  the  dog  playfully  away  with  his 
bare  foot.  Trip  bounded  back,  and  came  leaping  up, 
licking  him  with  little  caressing  licks.     He  began  to 


A   POEM    OF    FRIENDSHIP    339 

play  with  the  dog,  and  directly  they  were  rolling  on 
the  fine  turf,  the  laughing,  expostulating,  naked  man, 
and  the  excited  dog,  who  thrust  his  great  head  on 
to  the  man's  face,  licking,  and,  when  flung  away, 
rushed  forward  again,  snapping  playfully  at  the 
naked  arms  and  breasts.  At  last  George  lay  back, 
laughing  and  panting,  holding  Trip  by  the  two  fore 
feet  which  were  planted  on  his  breast,  while  the  dog, 
also  panting,  reached  forward  his  head  for  a  flicker- 
ing lick  at  the  throat  pressed  back  on  the  grass,  and 
the  mouth  thrown  back  out  of  reach.  When  the  man 
had  thus  lain  still  for  a  few  moments,  and  the  dog  was 
just  laying  his  head  against  his  master's  neck  to  rest 
too,  I  called,  and  George  jumped  up,  and  plunged  into 
the  pond  with  me,  Trip  after  us. 

The  water  was  icily  cold,  and  for  a  moment  de- 
prived me  of  my  senses.  When  I  began  to  swim, 
soon  the  water  was  buoyant,  and  I  was  sensible  of 
nothing  but  the  vigorous  poetry  of  action.  I  saw 
George  swimming  on  his  back  laughing  at  me,  and 
in  an  instant  I  had  flung  myself  like  an  impulse  after 
him.  The  laughing  face  vanished  as  he  swung  over 
and  fled,  and  I  pursued  the  dark  head  and  the  ruddy 
neck.  Trip,  the  wretch,  came  paddling  towards  me, 
interrupting  me ;  then  all  bewildered  with  excitement, 
he  scudded  to  the  bank.  I  chuckled  to  myself  as  I 
saw  him  run  along,  then  plunge  in  and  go  plodding 
to  George.  I  was  gaining.  He  tried  to  drive  off 
the  dog,  and  I  gained  rapidly.  As  I  came  up  to  him 
and  caught  him,  with  my  hand  on  his  shoulder,  there 
came  a  laughter  from  the  bank.     It  was  Emily. 

I  trod  the  water,  and  threw  handfuls  of  spray  at 
her.     She  laughed  and  blushed.     Then  Trip  waded 


340      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

out  to  her  and  she  fled  swiftly  from  his  shower-bath. 
George  was  floating  just  beside  me,  looking  up  and 
laughing. 

We  stood  and  looked  at  each  other  as  we  rubbed 
ourselves  dry.  He  was  well  proportioned,  and 
naturally  of  handsome  physique,  heavily  limbed. 
He  laughed  at  me,  telling  me  I  was  like  one  of 
Aubrey  Beardsley's  long,  lean  ugly  fellows.  I  refer- 
red him  to  many  classic  examples  of  slenderness,  de- 
claring myself  more  exquisite  than  his  grossness, 
which  amused  him. 

But  I  had  to  give  in,  and  bow  to  him,  and  he  took 
on  an  indulgent,  gentle  manner.  I  laughed  and  sub- 
mitted. For  he  knew  how  I  admired  the  noble,  white 
fruitfulness  of  his  form.  As  I  watched  him,  he  stood 
in  white  relief  against  the  mass  of  green.  He  pol- 
ished his  arm,  holding  it  out  straight  and  solid;  he 
rubbed  his  hair  into  curls,  while  I  watched  the  deep 
muscles  of  his  shoulders,  and  the  bands  stand  out  in 
his  neck  as  he  held  it  firm ;  I  remembered  the  story  of 
Annable. 

He  saw  I  had  forgotten  to  continue  my  rubbing, 
and  laughing  he  took  hold  of  me  and  began  to  rub  me 
briskly,  as  if  I  were  a  child,  or  rather,  a  woman  he 
loved  and  did  not  fear.  I  left  myself  quite  limply  in 
his  hands,  and,  to  get  a  better  grip  of  me,  he  put  his 
arm  round  me  and  pressed  me  against  him,  and  the 
sweetness  of  the  touch  of  our  naked  bodies  one  against 
the  other  was  superb.  It  satisfied  in  some  measure 
the  vague,  indecipherable  yearning  of  my  soul;  and 
it  was  the  same  with  him.  When  he  had  rubbed  me 
all  warm,  he  let  me  go,  and  we  looked  at  each  other 
with  eyes  of  still  laughter,  and  our  love  was  perfect 


A   POEM    OF    FRIENDSHIP    341 

for  a  moment,  more  perfect  than  any  love  I  have 
known  since,  either  for  man  or  woman. 

We  went  together  down  to  the  fields,  he  to  mow 
the  island  of  grass  he  had  left  standing  the  previous 
evening,  I  to  sharpen  the  machine  knife,  to  mow  out 
the  hedge-bottoms  with  the  scythe,  and  to  rake  the 
swaths  from  the  way  of  the  machine  when  the  un- 
mown  grass  was  reduced  to  a  triangle.  The  cool, 
moist  fragrance  of  the  morning,  the  intentional  still- 
ness of  everything,  of  the  tall  bluish  trees,  of  the  wet, 
frank  flowers,  of  the  trustful  moths  folded  and  un- 
folded in  the  fallen  swaths,  was  a  perfect  medium  of 
sympathy.  The  horses  moved  with  a  still  dignity, 
obeying  his  commands.  When  they  were  harnessed, 
and  the  machine  oiled,  still  he  was  loth  to  mar  the 
perfect  morning,  but  stood  looking  down  the  valley. 

"  I  shan't  mow  these  fields  any  more,"  he  said,  and 
the  fallen,  silvered  swaths  flickered  back  his  regret, 
and  the  faint  scent  of  the  limes  was  wistful.  So 
much  of  the  field  was  cut,  so  much  remained  to  cut; 
then  it  was  ended.  This  year  the  elder  flowers  were 
widespread  over  the  corner  bushes,  and  the  pink  roses 
fluttered  high  above  the  hedge.  There  were  the  same 
flowers  in  the  grass  as  we  had  known  many  years ;  we 
should  not  know  them  any  more. 

"  But  merely  to  have  mown  them  is  worth  having 
lived  for,"  he  said,  looking  at  me. 

We  felt  the  warmth  of  the  sun  trickling  through 
the  morning's  mist  of  coolness. 

u  You  see  that  sycamore,"  he  said,  "  that  bushy 
one  beyond  the  big  willow  ?  I  remember  when  father 
broke  off  the  leading  shoot  because  he  wanted  a  fine 
straight  stick,  I  can  remember  I  felt  sorry.     It  was 


342      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

running  up  so  straight,  with  such  a  fine  balance  of 
leaves — you  know  how  a  young  strong  sycamore  looks 
about  nine  feet  high — it  seemed  a  cruelty.  When 
you  are  gone,  and  we  are  left  from  here,  I  shall  feel 
like  that,  as  if  my  leading  shoot  were  broken  off. 
You  see,  the  tree  is  spoiled.  Yet  how  it  went  on 
growing.  I  believe  I  shall  grow  faster.  I  can  re- 
member the  bright  red  stalks  of  the  leaves  as  he  broke 
them  off  from  the  bough." 

He  smiled  at  me,  half  proud  of  his  speech.  Then 
he  swung  into  the  seat  of  the  machine,  having  at- 
tended to  the  horses'  heads.     He  lifted  the  knife. 

"  Good-bye,"  he  said,  smiling  whimsically  back  at 
me.  The  machine  started.  The  bed  of  the  knife 
fell,  and  the  grass  shivered  and  dropped  over.  I 
watched  the  heads  of  the  daisies  and  the  splendid  lines 
of  the  cocksfool  grass  quiver,  shake  against  the  crim- 
son burnet,  and  drop  over.  The  machine  went  sing- 
ing down  the  field,  leaving  a  track  of  smooth,  velvet 
green  in  the  way  of  the  swath-board.  The  flowers 
in  the  wall  of  uncut  grass  waited  unmoved,  as  the 
days  wait  for  us.  The  sun  caught  in  the  uplicking 
scarlet  sorrel  flames,  the  butterflies  woke,  and  I  could 
hear  the  fine  ring  of  his  "  Whoa !  "  from  the  far  cor- 
ner. Then  he  turned,  and  I  could  see  only  the  toss- 
ing ears  of  the  horses,  and  the  white  of  his  shoulder 
as  they  moved  along  the  wall  of  high  grass  on  the  hill 
slope.  I  sat  down  under  the  elm,  to  file  the  sections 
of  the  knife.  Always  as  he  rode  he  watched  the  fall- 
ing swath,  only  occasionally  calling  the  horses  into 
line.  It  was  his  voice  which  rang  the  morning  awake. 
When  we  were  at  work  we  hardly  noticed  one  an- 
other.    Yet  his  mother  had  said: 


A   POEM    OF    FRIENDSHIP    343 

"  George  is  so  glad  when  you're  in  the  field — he 
doesn't  care  how  long  the  day  is." 

Later,  when  the  morning  was  hot,  and  the  honey- 
suckle had  ceased  to  breathe,  and  all  the  other  scents 
were  moving  in  the  air  about  us,  when  all  the  field 
was  down,  when  I  had  seen  the  last  trembling  ecstasy 
of  the  harebells,  trembling  to  fall;  when  the  thick 
clump  of  purple  vetch  had  sunk;  when  the  green 
swaths  were  settling,  and  the  silver  swaths  were 
glistening  and  glittering  as  the  sun  came  along  them, 
in  the  hot  ripe  morning  we  worked  together  turning 
the  hay,  tipping  over  the  yesterday's  swaths  with  our 
forks,  and  bringing  yesterday's  fresh,  hidden  flowers 
into  the  death  of  sunlight. 

It  was  then  that  we  talked  of  the  past,  and  specu- 
lated on  the  future.  As  the  day  grew  older,  and  less 
wistful,  we  forgot  everything,  and  worked  on,  sing- 
ing, and  sometimes  I  would  recite  him  verses  as  we 
went,  and  sometimes  I  would  tell  him  about  books. 
Life  was  full  of  glamour  for  us  both. 


CHAPTEE  IX 

PASTORALS    AND    PEONIES 

At  dinner  time  the  father  announced  to  us  the  excit- 
ing fact  that  Leslie  had  asked  if  a  few  of  his  guests 
might  picnic  that  afternoon  in  the  Strelley  hayfields. 
The  closes  were  so  beautiful,  with  the  brook  under  all 
its  sheltering  trees,  running  into  the  pond  that  was 
set  with  two  green  islets.  Moreover,  the  squire's  lady 
had  written  a  book  filling  these  meadows  and  the 
mill  precincts  with  pot-pourri  romance.  The  wed- 
ding guests  at  Highclose  were  anxious  to  picnic  in  so 
choice  a  spot. 

The  father,  who  delighted  in  a  gay  throng,  beamed 
at  us  from  over  the  table.  George  asked  who  were 
coming. 

"  Oh,  not  many — about  half  a  dozen — mostly  ladies 
down  for  the  wedding." 

George  at  first  swore  warmly;  then  he  began  to 
appreciate  the  affair  as  a  joke. 

Mrs.  Saxton  hoped  they  wouldn't  want  her  to  pro- 
vide them  pots,  for  she  hadn't  two  cups  that  matched, 
nor  had  any  of  her  spoons  the  least  pretence  to  silver. 
The  children  were  hugely  excited,  and  wanted  a  holi- 
day from  school,  which  Emily  at  once  vetoed  firmly, 
thereby  causing  family  dissension. 

As  we  went  round  the  field  in  the  afternoon  turn- 
ing the  hay,  we  were  thinking  apart,  and  did  not  talk. 

344 


PASTORALS   AND    PEONIES     345 

Every  now  and  then — and  at  every  corner — we 
stopped  to  look  down  towards  the  wood,  to  see  if  they 
were  coming. 

"  Here  they  are !  "  George  exclaimed  suddenly, 
having  spied  the  movement  of  white  in  the  dark  wood. 
We  stood  still  and  watched.  Two  girls,  heliotrope 
and  white,  a  man  with  two  girls,  pale  green  and 
white,  and  a  man  with  a  girl  last. 

"  Can  you  tell  who  they  are  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  That's  Marie  Tempest,  that  first  girl  in  white, 
and  that's  him  and  Lettie  at  the  back,  I  don't  know 
any  more." 

He  stood  perfectly  still  until  they  had  gone  out  of 
sight  behind  the  banks  down  by  the  brooks,  then  he 
stuck  his  fork  in  the  ground,  saying : 

"  You  can  easily  finish — if  you  like.  I'll  go  and 
mow  out  that  bottom  corner." 

He  glanced  at  me  to  see  what  I  was  thinking  of 
him.  I  was  thinking  that  he  was  afraid  to  meet  her, 
and  I  was  smiling  to  myself.  Perhaps  he  felt 
ashamed,  for  he  went  silently  away  to  the  machine, 
where  he  belted  his  riding  breeches  tightly  round  his 
waist,  and  slung  the  scythe  strap  on  his  hip.  I  heard 
the  clanging  slur  of  the  scythe  stone  as  he  whetted 
the  blade.  Then  he  strode  off  to  mow  the  far  bottom 
corner,  where  the  ground  was  marshy,  and  the  ma- 
chine might  not  go,  to  bring  down  the  lush  green  grass, 
and  the  tall  meadow  sweet. 

I  went  to  the  pond  to  meet  the  newcomers.  I 
bowed  to  Louie  Denys,  a  tall,  graceful  girl  of  the 
drooping  type,  elaborately  gowned  in  heliotrope  linen ; 
I  bowed  to  Agnes  D'Arcy,  an  erect,  intelligent  girl 
with  magnificent  auburn  hair — she  wore  no  hat,  and 


346       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

carried  a  sunshade;  I  bowed  to  Hilda  Seconde,  a 
svelte,  petite  girl,  exquisitely  and  delicately  pretty; 
I  bowed  to  Maria  and  to  Lettie,  and  I  shook  hands 
with  Leslie  and  with  his  friend,  Freddy  Cresswell. 
The  latter  was  to  be  best  man,  a  broad  shouldered, 
pale-faced  fellow,  with  beautiful  soft  hair  like  red 
wheat,  and  laughing  eyes,  and  a  whimsical,  drawling 
manner  of  speech,  like  a  man  who  has  suffered  enough 
to  bring  him  to  manhood  and  maturity,  but  who  in 
spite  of  all  remains  a  boy,  irresponsible,  lovable — a 
trifle  pathetic.  As  the  day  was  very  hot,  both  men 
were  in  flannels,  and  wore  flannel  collars,  yet  it  was 
evident  that  they  had  dressed  with  scrupulous  care. 
Instinctively  I  tried  to  pull  my  trousers  into  shape 
within  my  belt,  and  I  felt  the  inferiority  cast  upon  the 
father,  big  and  fine  as  he  was  in  his  way,  for  his 
shoulders  were  rounded  with  work,  and  his  trousers 
were  much  distorted. 

"  What  can  we  do  ?  "  said  Marie ;  "  you  know  we 
don't  want  to  hinder,  we  want  to  help  you.  It  was 
so  good  of  you  to  let  us  come," 

The  father  laughed  his  fine  indulgence,  saying  to 
them — they  loved  him  for  the  mellow,  laughing  mod- 
ulation of  his  voice : 

"  Come  on,  then — I  see  there's  a  bit  of  turning-over 
to  do,  as  Cyril's  left.     Come  and  pick  your  forks." 

From  among  a  sheaf  of  hayforks  he  chose  the 
lightest  for  them,  and  they  began  anywhere,  just 
tipping  at  the  swaths.  He  sEowe'd  them  carefully — 
Marie  and  the  chaming  little  Hilda — just  how  to  do 
it,  but  they  found  the  right  way  the  hardest  way,  so 
they  worked  in  their  own  fashion,  and  laughed 
heartily  with  him  when  he  made  playful  jokes  at 


PASTORALS   AND   PEONIES     347 

them.  He  was  a  great  lover  of  girls,  and  they  blos- 
somed from  timidity  under  his  hearty  influence. 

"  Ain'  it  flippin  'ot  ?  "  drawled  Cresswell,  who  had 
just  taken  his  M.  A.  degree  in  classics :  "  This  bloom- 
in'  stuff's  dry  enough — come  an'  flop  on  it." 

He  gathered  a  cushion  of  hay,  which  Louie.  Denys 
carefully  appropriated,  arranging  first  her  beautiful 
dress,  that  fitted  close  to  her  shape,  without  any  belt 
or  interruption,  and  then  laying  her  arms,  that  were 
netted  to  the  shoulder  in  open  lace,  gracefully  at  rest. 
Lettie,  who  was  also  in  a  closefitting  white  dress  which 
showed  her  shape  down  to  the  hips,  sat  where  Leslie 
had  prepared  for  her,  and  Miss  IVArcy  reluctantly 
accepted  my  pile. 

Cresswell  twisted  his  clean-cut  mouth  in  a  little 
smile,  saying: 

"  Lord,  a  giddy  little  pastoral — fit  for  old  Theoc- 
ritus, ain't  it,  Miss  Denys  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  talk  to  me  about  those  classic  people 
— I  daren't  even  say  their  names.  What  would  he 
say  about  us  ?  " 

He  laughed,  winking  his  blue  eyes: 

"  He'd  make  old  Daphnis  there," — pointing  to 
Leslie — "  sing  a  match  with  me,  Damoetas — contest- 
ing the  merits  of  our  various  sheperdesses — begin 
Daphnis,  sing  up  for  Amaryllis,  I  mean  Nais,  damn 
'em,  they  were  for  ever  getting  mixed  up  with  their 
nymphs." 

"  I  say,  Mr.  Cresswell,  your  language !  Consider 
whom  you're  damning,"  said  Miss  Denys,  leaning 
over  and  tapping  his  head  with  her  silk  glove. 

"  You  say  any  giddy  thing  in  a  pastoral,"  he  re- 
plied, taking  the  edge  of  her  skirt,  and  lying  back  on 


348      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

it,  looking  up  at  her  as  she  leaned  over  him. 
"  Strike  up,  Daphnis,  something  about  honey  or 
white  cheese — or  else  the  early  apples  that'll  be  ripe 
in  a  week's  time." 

"  I'm  sure  the  apples  you  showed  me  are  ever  so 
little  and  green,"  interrupted  Miss  Denys ;  "  they 
will  never  be  ripe  in  a  week — ugh,  sour !  " 

He  smiled  up  at  her  in  his  whimsical  way : 

"  Hear  that,  Tempest — '  Ugh,  sour ! ' — not  much ! 
Oh,  love  us,  haven't  you  got  a  start  yet  ? — isn't  there 
aught  to  sing  about,  you  blunt-faced  kid  ?  " 

"  I'll  hear  you  first — I'm  no  judge  of  honey  and 
cheese." 

"  An'  darn  little  apples — takes  a  woman  to  judge 
them ;  don't  it,  Miss  Denys  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  stroking  his  soft  hair 
from  his  forehead,  with  her  hand  whereon  rings  were 
sparkling. 

"  '  My  love  is  not  white,  my  hair  is  not  yellow, 
like  honey  dropping  through  the  sunlight — my  love 
is  brown,  and  sweet,  and  ready  for  the  lips  of  love.' 
Go  on,  Tempest — strike  up,  old  cowherd.  Who's  that 
tuning  his  pipe? — oh,  that  fellow  sharpening  his 
scythe!  It's  enough  to  make  your  backache  to  look 
at  him  working — go  an'  stop  him,  somebody." 

"  Yes,  let  us  go  and  fetch  him,"  said  Miss  D'Arcy. 
"  I'm  sure  he  doesn't  know  what  a  happy  pastoral 
state  he's  in — let  us  go  and  fetch  him." 

"  They  don't  like  hindering  at  their  work,  Agnes 

— besides,  where  ignorance  is  bliss ,"  said  Lettie, 

afraid  lest  she  might  bring  him.  The  other  hesi- 
tated, then  with  her  eyes  she  invited  me  to  go  with 
her. 


PASTORALS    AND    PEONIES     349 

"  Oh,  dear,"  she  laughed,  with  a  little  mowe, 
"  Freddy  is  such  an  ass,  and  Louie  Denys  is  like  a 
wasp  at  treacle.  I  wanted  to  laugh,  yet  I  felt  just  a 
tiny  bit  cross.  Don't  you  feel  great  when  you  go 
mowing  like  that?  Father  Timey  sort  of  feeling? 
Shall  we  go  and  look !  We'll  say  we  want  those  fox- 
gloves he'll  be  cutting  down  directly — and  those  bell 
flowers.  I  suppose  you  needn't  go  on  with  your 
labours " 

He  did  not  know  we  were  approaching  till  I  called 
him,  then  he  started  slightly  as  he  saw  the  tall,  proud 
girl. 

"Mr.  Saxton — Miss  D'Arcy,"  I  said,  and  he 
shook  hands  with  her.  Immediately  his  manner  be- 
came ironic,  for  he  had  seen  his  hand  big  and  coarse 
and  inflamed  with  the  snaith  clasping  the  lady's 
hand. 

"  We  thought  you  looked  so  fine,"  she  said  to  him, 
"  and  men  are  so  embarrassing  when  they  make  love 
to  somebody  else — aren't  they?  Save  us  those  fox- 
gloves, will  you — they  are  splendid — like  savage  sol- 
diers drawn  up  'against  the  hedge — don't  cut  them 
down — and  those  campanulas — bell-flowers,  ah,  yes! 
They  are  spinning  idylls  up  there.  I  don't  care  for 
idylls,  do  you  ?  Oh,  you  don't  know  what  a  classical 
pastoral  person  you  are — but  there,  I  don't  suppose 

you    suffer    from    idyllic    love "    she    laughed, 

" — one  doesn't  see  the  silly  little  god  fluttering  about 
in  our  hayfields,  does  one  ?  Do  you  find  much  time 
to  sport  with  Amaryllis  in  the  shade  ? — I'm  sure  it's 
a  shame  they  banished  Phyllis  from  the  fields " 

He  laughed  and  went  on  with  his  work.  She 
smiled  a  little,  too,  thinking  she  had  made  a  great 


350      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

impression.  She  put  out  her  hand  with  a  dramatic 
gesture,  and  looked  at  me,  when  the  scythe  crunched 
through  the  meadow-sweet. 

"  Crunch ! — isn't  it  fine !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  a  kind 
of  inevitable  fate — I  think  it's  fine !  " 

We  wandered  about  picking  flowers  and  talking 
until  teatime.  A  man-servant  came  with  the  tea- 
basket,  and  the  girls  spread  the  cloth  under  a  great 
willow  tree.  Lettie  took  the  little  silver  kettle,  and 
went  to  fill  it  at  the  small  spring  which  trickled  into 
a  stone  trough  all  pretty  with  cranesbill  and  stellaria 
hanging  over,  while  long  blades  of  grass  waved  in 
the  water.  George,  who  had  finished  his  work,  and 
wanted  to  go  home  to  tea,  walked  across  to  the  spring 
where  Lettie  sat  playing  with  the  water,  getting  little 
cupfuls  to  put  into  the  kettle,  watching  the  quick 
skating  of  the  water  beetles,  and  the  large  faint  spots 
of  their  shadows  darting  on  the  silted  mud  at  the 
bottom  of  the  trough. 

She  glanced  round  on  hearing  him  coming,  and 
smiled  nervously :  they  were  mutually  afraid  of  meet- 
ing each  other  again. 

"  It  is  about  teatime,"  he  said. 

"  Yes — it  will  be  ready  in  a  moment — this  is  not 
to  make  the  tea  with — it's  only  to  keep  a  little  supply 
of  hot  water." 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  "  I'll  go  on  home— I'd  rather." 

"  No,"  she  replied,  "  you  can't,  because  we  are  all 
having  tea  together:  I  had  some  fruits  put  up,  be- 
cause I  know  you  don't  trifle  with  tea — and  your 
father's  coming." 

"  But,"  he  replied  pettishly,  "  I  can't  have  my  tea 
with  all  those  folks — I  don't  want  to — look  at  me !  " 


PASTORALS    AND    PEONIES     351 

He  held  out  his  inflamed,  barbaric  hands. 

She  winced  and  said: 

"  It  won't  matter — you'll  give  the  realistic  touch." 

He  laughed  ironically. 

"  "No — you  must  come,"  she  insisted. 

"  I'll  have  a  drink  then,  if  you'll  let  me,"  he  said, 
yielding. 

She  got  up  quickly,  blushing,  offering  him  the 
tiny,  pretty  cup. 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry,"  she  said. 

"  Never  mind,"  he  muttered,  and  turning  from 
the  proffered  cup  he  lay  down  flat,  put  his  mouth  to 
the  water,  and  drank  deeply.  She  stood  and  watched 
the  motion  of  his  drinking,  and  of  his  heavy  breath- 
ing afterwards.  He  got  up,  wiping  his  mouth,  not 
looking  at  her.  Then  he  washed  his  hands  in  the 
water,  and  stirred  up  the  mud.  He  put  his  hand  to 
the  bottom  of  the  trough,  bringing  out  a  handful  of 
silt,  with  the  grey  shrimps  twisting  in  it.  He  flung 
the  mud  on  the  floor  where  the  poor  grey  creatures 
writhed. 

"  It  wants  cleaning  out,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  shuddering.  "  You  won't  be 
long,"  she  added,  taking  up  the  silver  kettle. 

In  a  few  moments  he  got  up  and  followed  her  re- 
luctantly down.    He  was  nervous  and  irritable. 

The  girls  were  seated  on  tufts  of  hay,  with  the 
men  leaning  in  attendance  on  them,  and  the  man-serv- 
ant waiting  on  all.  George  was  placed  between  Let- 
tie  and  Hilda.  The  former  handed  him  his  little 
egg-shell  of  tea,  which,  as  he  was  not  very  thirsty, 
he  put  down  on  the  ground  beside  him.  Then  she 
passed  him  the  bread  and  butter,  cut  for  five-o'clock 


352      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

tea,  and  fruits,  grapes  and  peaches,  and  strawber- 
ries, in  a  beautifully  carved  oak  tray.  She  watched 
for  a  moment  his  thick,  half-washed  fingers  fum- 
bling over  the  fruits,  then  she  turned  her  head  away. 
All  the  gay  teatime,  when  the  talk  bubbled  and 
frothed  over  all  the  cups,  she  avoided  him  with  her 
eyes.  Yet  again  and  again,  as  someone  said :  "  I'm 
sorry,  Mr.  Saxton — will  you  have  some  cake  %  " — or 
"  See,  Mr.  Saxton — try  this  peach,  I'm  sure  it  will 
be  mellow  right  to  the  stone," — speaking  very  nat- 
urally, but  making  the  distinction  between  him  and 
the  other  men  by  their  indulgence  towards  him,  Let- 
tie  was  forced  to  glance  at  him  as  he  sat  eating,  an- 
swering in  monosyllables,  laughing  with  constraint 
and  awkwardness,  and  her  irritation  flickered  be- 
tween her  brows.  Although  she  kept  up  the  gay 
frivolity  of  the  conversation,  still  the  discord  was 
felt  by  everybody,  and  we  did  not  linger  as  we  should 
have  done  over  the  cups.  "  George,"  they  said  after- 
wards, "  was  a  wet  blanket  on  the  party."  Lettie 
was  intensely  annoyed  with  him.  His  presence  was 
unbearable  to  her.  She  wished  him  a  thousand 
miles  away.  He  sat  listening  to  Cresswell's  whimsi- 
cal affectation  of  vulgarity  which  flickered  with  fan- 
tasy, and  he  laughed  in  a  strained  fashion. 

He  was  the  first  to  rise,  saying  he  must  get  the 
cows  up  for  milking. 

"  Oh,  let  us  go — let  us  go.  May  we  come  and  see 
the  cows  milked  ? "  said  Hilda,  her  delicate,  ex- 
quisite features  flushing,  for  she  was  very  shy. 

"No,"  drawled  Freddy,  "the  stink  o'  live  beef 
ain't  salubrious.    You  be  warned,  and  stop  here." 

"  I  never  could  bear  cows,  except  those  lovely  little 


PASTORALS    AND    PEONIES     353 

highland  cattle,  all  woolly,  in  pictures,"  said  Louie 
Denys,  smiling  archly,  with  a  little  irony. 

"  No,"  laughed  Agnes  D'Arcy,  "  they — they're 
smelly," — and  she  pursed  up  her  mouth,  and  ended 
in  a  little  trill  of  deprecatory  laughter,  as  she  often 
did.     Hilda  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  blushing. 

"  Come,  Lettie,"  said  Leslie  good-naturedly,  "  I 
know  you  have  a  farm-yard  fondness — come  on," 
and  they  followed  George  down. 

As  they  passed  along  the  pond  bank  a  swan  and 
her  tawny,  fluffy  brood  sailed  with  them  the  length 
of  the  water,  "  tipping  on  their  little  toes,  the  dar- 
lings— pitter-patter  through  the  water,  tiny  little 
things,"  as  Marie  said. 

We  heard  George  below  calling  "  Bully — Bully — 
Bully — Bully !  " — and  then,  a  moment  or  two  after, 
in  the  bottom  garden :  "  Come  out,  you  little  fool — 
are  you  coming  out  of  it  ? "  in  manifestly  angry 
tones. 

"  Has  it  run  away  ? "  laughed  Hilda,  delighted 
and  we  hastened  out  of  the  lower  garden  to  see. 

There  in  the  green  shade,  between  the  tall  goose- 
berry bushes,  the  heavy  crimson  peonies  stood  gor- 
geously along  the  path.  The  full  red  globes,  poised 
and  leaning  voluptuously,  sank  their  crimson  weight 
on  to  the  seeding  grass  of  the  path,  borne  down  by 
secret  rain,  and  by  their  own  splendour.  The  path 
was  poured  over  with  red  rich  silk  of  strewn  petals. 
The  great  flowers  swung  their  crimson  grandly  about 
the  walk,  like  crowds  of  cardinals  in  pomp  among 
the  green  bushes.  We  burst  into  the  new  world  of 
delight.  As  Lettie  stooped,  taking  between  both 
hands  the  gorgeous  silken  fulness  of  one  blossom  that 


354      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

was  sunk  to  the  earth.  George  came  down  the  path, 
with  the  brown  bull-calf  straddling  behind  him,  its 
neck  stuck  out,  sucking  zealously  at  his  middle  finger. 

The  unconscious  attitudes  of  the  girls,  all  bent 
enraptured  over  the  peonies,  touched  him  with  sud- 
den pain.  As  he  came  up,  with  the  calf  stalking 
grudgingly  behind,  he  said: 

"  There's  a  fine  show  of  pyeenocks  this  year,  isn't 
there?" 

"  What  do  you  call  them  ?  "  cried  Hilda,  turning 
to  him  her  sweet,  charming  face  full  of  interest. 

"  Pyeenocks,"  he  replied. 

Lettie  remained  crouching  with  a  red  flower  be- 
tween her  hands,  glancing  sideways  unseen  to  look 
at  the  calf,  which  with  its  shiny  nose  uplifted  was 
mumbling  in  its  sticky  gums  the  seductive  finger. 
It  sucked  eagerly,  but  unprofitably,  and  it  appeared 
to  cast  a  troubled  eye  inwards  to  see  if  it  were 
really  receiving  any  satisfaction, — doubting,  but  not 
despairing.  Marie,  and  Hilda,  and  Leslie  laughed, 
while  he,  after  looking  at  Lettie  as  she  crouched, 
wistfully,  as  he  thought,  over  the  flower,  led  the  little 
brute  out  of  the  garden,  and  sent  it  running  into  the 
yard  with  a  smack  on  the  haunch. 

Then  he  returned,  rubbing  his  sticky  finger  dry 
against  his  breeches.  He  stood  near  to  Lettie,  and 
she  felt  rather  than  saw  the  extraordinary  pale  clean- 
ness of  the  one  finger  among  the  others.  She  rubbed 
her  finger  against  her  dress  in  painful  sympathy. 

"  But  aren't  the  flowers  lovely !  "  exclaimed  Marie 
again.     "  I  want  to  hug  them." 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  assented  Hilda. 

"  They  are  like  a  romance — D'Annunzio — a  ro- 


PASTORALS    AND    PEONIES     355 

mance  in  passionate  sadness,' '  said  Lettie,  in  an 
ironical  voice,  speaking  half  out  of  conventional  ne- 
cessity of  saying  something,  half  out  of  desire  to 
shield  herself,  and  yet  in  a  measure  express  herself. 

"  There  is  a  tale  about  them,"  I  said. 

The  girls  clamoured  for  the  legend. 

"  Pray,  do  tell  us,"  pleaded  Hilda,  the  irresistible. 

"  It  was  Emily  told  me — she  says  it's  a  legend, 
but  I  believe  it's  only  a  tale.  She  says  the  peonies 
were  brought  from  the  Hall  long  since  by  a  fellow  of 
this  place — when  it  was  a  mill.  He  was  brown  and 
strong,  and  the  daughter  of  the  Hall,  who  was  pale 
and  fragile  and  young,  loved  him.  When  he  went 
up  to  the  Hall  gardens  to  cut  the  yew  hedges,  she 
would  hover  round  him  in  her  white  frock,  and  tell 
him  tales  of  old  days,  in  little  snatches  like  a  wren 
singing,  till  he  thought  she  was  a  fairy  who  had  be- 
witched him.  He  would  stand  and  watch  her,  and 
one  day,  when  she  came  near  to  him  telling  him  a 
tale  that  set  the  tears  swimming  in  her  eyes,  he  took 
hold  of  her  and  kissed  her  and  kept  her.  They  used 
to  tryst  in  the  poplar  spinney.  She  would  come  with 
her  arms  full  of  flowers,  for  she  always  kept  to  her 
fairy  part.  One  morning  she  came  early  through 
the  mists.  He  was  out  shooting.  She  wanted  to 
take  him  unawares,  like  a  fairy.  Her  arms  were 
full  of  peonies.  When  she  was  moving  beyond  the 
trees  he  shot  her,  not  knowing.  She  stumbled  on, 
and  sank  down  in  their  tryst  place.  He  found  her 
lying  there  among  the  red  pyeenocks,  white  and 
fallen.  He  thought  she  was  just  lying  talking  to  the 
red  flowers,  so  he  stood  waiting.  Then  he  went  up, 
and  bent  over  her,  and  found  the  flowers  full  of 


356      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

blood.  It  was  he  set  the  garden  here  with  these 
pyeenocks." 

The  eyes  of  the  girls  were  round  with  the  pity  of 
the  tale  and  Hilda  turned  away  to  hide  her  tears. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  ending,"  said  Lettie,  in  a  low 
tone,  looking  at  the  floor. 

"  It's  all  a  tale,"  said  Leslie,  soothing  the  girls. 

George  waited  till  Lettie  looked  at  him.  She 
lifted  her  eyes  to  him  at  last.  Then  each  turned 
aside,  trembling. 

Marie  asked  for  some  of  the  peonies. 

"  Give  me  just  a  few — and  I  can  tell  the  others 
the  story — it  is  so  sad — I  feel  so  sorry  for  him,  it 

was  so  cruel  for  him !    And  Lettie  says  it  ends 

beautifully 1» 

George  cut  the  flowers  with  his  great  clasp  knife, 
and  Marie  took  them,  carefully,  treating  their  ro- 
mance with  great  tenderness.  Then  all  went  out  of 
the  garden  and  he  turned  to  the  cowshed. 

"  Good-bye  for  the  present,"  said  Lettie,  afraid  to 
stay  near  him. 

"  Good-bye,"  he  laughed. 

"  Thank  you  so  much  for  the  flowers — and  the 
story — it  was  splendid,"  said  Marie,  " — but  so  sad !  " 

Then  they  went,  and  we  did  not  see  them  again. 

Later,  when  all  had  gone  to  bed  at  the  mill,  George 
and  I  sat  together  on  opposite  sides  of  the  fire,  smok- 
ing, saying  little.  He  was  casting  up  the  total  of 
discrepancies,  and  now  and  again  he  ejaculated  one 
of  his  thoughts. 

"  And  all  day,"  he  said,  "  Blench  has  been  plough- 
ing his  wheat  in,  because  it  was  that  bitten  off  by 
the  rabbits  it  was  no  manner  of  use,  so  he's  ploughed 


PASTORALS    AND    PEONIES    357 

it  in :  an'  they  say  with  idylls,  eating  peaches  in  our 
close." 

Then  there  was  silence,  while  the  clock  throbbed 
heavily,  and  outside  a  wild  bird  called,  and  was  still ; 
softly  the  ashes  rustled  lower  in  the  grate. 

"  She  said  it  ended  well — but  what's  the  good  of 
death — what's  the  good  of  that  ?  "  He  turned  his 
face  to  the  ashes  in  the  grate,  and  sat  brooding. 

Outside,  among  the  trees,  some  wild  animal  set 
up  a  thin,  wailing  cry. 

"  Damn  that  row !  "  said  I,  stirring,  looking  also 
into  the  grey  fire. 

"  It's  some  stoat  or  weasel,  or  something.  It's 
been  going  on  like  that  for  nearly  a  week.  I've  shot 
in  the  trees  ever  so  many  times.  There  were  two 
— one's  gone." 

Continuously,  through  the  heavy,  chilling  silence, 
came  the  miserable  crying  from  the  darkness  among 
the  trees. 

"  You  know,"  he  said,  "  she  hated  me  this  after- 
noon, and  I  hated  her " 

It  was  midnight,  full  of  sick  thoughts. 

"  It  is  no  good,"  said  I.  "  Go  to  bed — it  will  be 
morning  in  a  few  hours." 


part  in 


CHAPTEK   I 

A    NEW    STAET    IN    LIFE 

Lettie  was  wedded,  as  I  had  said,  before  Leslie 
lost  all  the  wistful  traces  of  his  illness.  They  had 
been  gone  away  to  France  five  days  before  we  re- 
covered anything  like  the  normal  tone  in  the  house. 
Then,  though  the  routine  was  the  same,  everywhere 
was  a  sense  of  loss,  and  of  change.  The  long  voyage 
in  the  quiet  home  was  over;  we  had  crossed  the 
bright  sea  of  our  youth,  and  already  Lettie  had 
landed  and  was  travelling  to  a  strange  destination 
in  a  foreign  land.  It  was  time  for  us  all  to  go,  to 
leave  the  valley  of  Nethermere  whose  waters  and 
whose  woods  were  distilled  in  the  essence  of  our 
veins.  We  were  the  children  of  the  valley  of  Neth- 
ermere,  a  small  nation  with  language  and  blood  of 
our  own,  and  to  cast  ourselves  each  one  into  sep- 
arate exile  was  painful  to  us. 

"  I  shall  have  to  go  now,"  said  George.  "  It  is 
my  nature  to  linger  an  unconscionable  time,  yet  I 
dread  above  all  things  this  slow  crumbling  away 
from  my  foundations  by  which  I  free  myself  at  last. 
I  must  wrench  myself  away  now " 

It  was  the  slack  time  between  the  hay  and  the 
corn  harvest,  and  we  sat  together  in  the  grey,  still 
morning  of  August  pulling  the  stack.  My  hands 
were  sore  with  tugging  the  loose  whisps  from  the 

361 


362      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

lower  part  of  the  stack,  so  I  waited  for  the  touch  of 
rain  to  send  us  indoors.  It  came  at  last,  and  we 
hurried  into  the  barn.  We  climbed  the  ladder  into 
the  loft  that  was  strewn  with  farming  implements 
and  with  carpenters'  tools.  We  sat  together  on  the 
shavings  that  littered  the  bench  before  the  high  gable 
window,  and  looked  out  over  the  brooks  and  the 
woods  and  the  ponds.  The  tree-tops  were  very  near 
to  us,  and  we  felt  ourselves  the  centre  of  the  waters 
and  the  woods  that  spread  down  the  rainy  valley. 

"  In  a  few  years,"  I  said,  "  we  shall  be  almost 
strangers." 

He  looked  at  me  with  fond,  dark  eyes  and  smiled 
incredulously. 

"  It  is  as  far,"  said  I,  "  to  the  '  Ram 9  as  it  is  for 
me  to  London — farther." 

"  Don't  you  want  me  to  go  there  ? "  he  asked,  smil- 
ing quietly. 

"  It's  all  as  one  where  you  go,  you  will  travel 
north,  and  I  east,  and  Lettie  south.  Lettie  has  de- 
parted.   In  seven  weeks  I  go. — And  you  %  " 

"  I  must  be  gone  before  you,"  he  said  decisively. 

"  Do  you  know "  and  he  smiled  timidly  in 

confession,  "  I  feel  alarmed  at  the  idea  of  being 
left  alone  on  a  loose  end.  I  must  not  be  the  last  to 
leave "  he  added  almost  appealingly. 

"  And  you  will  go  to  Meg  ? "  I  asked. 

He  sat  tearing  the  silken  shavings  into  shreds,  and 
telling  me  in  clumsy  fragments  all  he  could  of  his 
feelings : 

"  You  see  it's  not  so  much  what  you  call  love.  I 
don't  know.  You  see  I  built  on  Lettie," — he  looked 
up  at  me  shamefacedly,  then  continued  tearing  the 


A   NEW    START   IN   LIFE     363 

shavings — "you  must  found  your  castles  on  some- 
thing, and  I  founded  mine  on  Lettie.  You  see,  I'm 
like  plenty  of  folks,  I  have  nothing  definite  to  shape 
my  life  to.  I  put  brick  upon  brick,  as  they  come, 
and  if  the  whole  topples  down  in  the  end,  it  does. 
But  you  see,  you  and  Lettie  have  made  me  conscious, 
and  now  I'm  at  a  dead  loss.  I  have  looked  to  mar- 
riage to  set  me  busy  on  my  house  of  life,  something 
whole  and  complete,  of  which  it  will  supply  the  de- 
sign.. I  must  marry  or  be  in  a  lost  lane.  There  are 
two  people  I  could  marry — and  Lettie's  gone.  I  love 
Meg  just  as  well,  as  far  as  love  goes.  I'm  not  sure  I 
don't  feel  better  pleased  at  the  idea  of  marrying  her. 
You  know  I  should  always  have  been  second  to  Let- 
tie,  and  the  best  part  of  love  is  being  made  much  of, 
being  first  and  foremost  in  the  whole  world  for  some- 
body. And  Meg's  easy  and  lovely.  I  can  have  her 
without  trembling,  she's  full  of  soothing  and  com- 
fort. I  can  stroke  her  hair  and  pet  her,  and  she  looks 
up  at  me,  full  of  trust  and  lovingness,  and  there  is  no 
flaw,  all  restfulness  in  one  another " 

Three  weeks  later,  as  I  lay  in  the  August  sunshine 
in  a  deck-chair  on  the  lawn,  I  heard  the  sound  of 
wheels  along  the  gravel  path.  It  was  George  calling 
for  me  to  accompany  him  to  his  marriage.  He  pulled 
up  the  dog-cart  near  the  door,  and  came  up  the  steps 
to  me  on  the  lawn.  He  was  dressed  as  if  for  the 
cattle  market,  in  jacket  and  breeches  and  gaiters. 

"  Well,  are  you  ready  ?  "  he  said  standing  smiling 
down  on  me.  His  eyes  were  dark  with  excitement, 
and  had  that  vulnerable  look  which  was  so  peculiar 
to  the  Saxtons  in  their  emotional  moments. 


364      THE    WHITE   PEACOCK 

"  You  are  in  good  time,"  said  I,  "  it  is  but  half 
past  nine." 

"  It  wouldn't  do  to  be  late  on  a  day  like  this,"  he 
said  gaily,  "  see  how  the  sun  shines.  Come,  you  don't 
look  as  brisk  as  a  best  man  should.  I  thought  you 
would  have  been  on  tenterhooks  of  excitement.  Get 
up,  get  up !  Look  here,  a  bird  has  given  me  luck  " — 
he  showed  me  a  white  smear  on  his  shoulder. 

I  drew  myself  up  lazily. 

"  All  right,"  I  said,  "  but  we  must  drink  a  whisky 
to  establish  it" 

He  followed  me  out  of  the  fragrant  sunshine  into 
the  dark  house.  The  rooms  were  very  still  and 
empty,  but  the  cool  silence  responded  at  once  to  the 
gaiety  of  our  sunwarm  entrance.  The  sweetness  of 
the  summer  morning  hung  invisible  like  glad  ghosts 
of  romance  through  the  shadowy  room.  We  seemed 
to  feel  the  sunlight  dancing  golden  in  our  veins  as 
we  filled  again  the  pale  liqueur. 

"  Joy  to  you — I  envy  you  to-day." 

His  teeth  were  white,  and  his  eyes  stirred  like  dark 
liquor  as  he  smiled. 

"  Here  is  my  wedding  present !  " 

I  stood  the  four  large  water-colours  along  the  wall 
before  him.  They  were  drawings  among  the  waters 
and  the  fields  of  the  mill,  grey  rain  and  twilight, 
morning  with  the  sun  pouring  gold  into  the  mist, 
and  the  suspense  of  a  midsummer  noon  upon  the 
pond.  All  the  glamour  of  our  yesterdays  came  over 
him  like  an  intoxicant,  and  he  quivered  with  the 
wonderful  beauty  of  life  that  was  weaving  him  into 
the  large  magic  of  the  years.  He  realised  the  splen- 
dour of  the  pageant  of  days  which  had  him  in  train. 


A   NEW    START    IN    LIFE     365 

"  It's  been  wonderful,  Cyril,  all  the  time,"  he  said, 
with  surprised  joy. 

We  drove  away  through  the  freshness  of  the  wood, 
and  among  the  flowing  of  the  sunshine  along  the 
road.  The  cottages  of  Greymede  filled  the  shadows 
with  colour  of  roses,  and  the  sunlight  with  odour  of 
pinks  and  the  blue  of  corn  flowers  and  larkspur.  We 
drove  briskly  up  the  long,  sleeping  hill,  and  bowled 
down  the  hollow  past  the  farms  where  the  hens  were 
walking  with  the  red  gold  cocks  in  the  orchard,  and 
the  ducks  like  white  cloudlets  under  the  aspen  trees 
revelled  on  the  pond. 

"  I  told  her  to  be  ready  any  time,"  said  George — 
"  but  she  doesn't  know  it's  to-day.  I  didn't  want  the 
public-house  full  of  the  business." 

The  mare  walked  up  the  sharp  little  rise  on  top  of 
which  stood  the  "  Ram  Inn."  In  the  quiet,  as  the 
horse  slowed  to  a  standstill,  we  heard  the  crooning 
of  a  song  in  the  garden.  We  sat  still  in  the  cart,  and 
looked  across  the  flagged  yard  to  where  the  tall  ma- 
donna lilies  rose  in  clusters  out  of  the  alyssome.  Be- 
yond the  border  of  flowers  was  Meg,  bending  over 
the  gooseberry  bushes.  She  saw  us  and  came  swing- 
ing down  the  path,  with  a  bowl  of  gooseberries  poised 
on  her  hip.  She  was  dressed  in  a  plain,  fresh  hol- 
land  frock,  with  a  white  apron.  Her  black,  heavy 
hair  reflected  the  sunlight,  and  her  ripe  face  was 
luxuriant  with  laughter. 

"  Well,  I  never !  "  she  exclaimed,  trying  not  to 
show  that  she  guessed  his  errand.  "  Fancy  you  here 
at  this  time  o'  morning !  " 

Her  eyes,  delightful  black  eyes  like  polished  jet, 
untroubled  and  frank,  looked  at  us  as  a  robin  might, 


366      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

with  bright  questioning.  Her  eyes  were  so  different 
from  the  Saxton's:  darker,  but  never  still  and  full, 
never  hesitating,  dreading  a  wound,  never  dilating 
with  hurt  or  with  timid  ecstasy. 

"  Are  you  ready  then  ? "  he  asked,  smiling  down 
on  her. 

"  What  ?  "  she  asked  in  confusion. 

"  To  come  to  the  registrar  with  me — I've  got  the 
licence." 

"  But  I'm  just  going  to  make  the  pudding,"  she 
cried,  in  full  expostulation. 

"  Let  them  make  it  themselves — put  your  hat  on." 

"  But  look  at  me !  I've  just  been  getting  the  goose- 
berries. Look !  "  she  showed  us  the  berries,  and  the 
scratches  on  her  arms  and  hands. 

"  What  a  shame !  "  he  said,  bending  down  to  stroke 
her  hand  and  her  arm.  She  drew  back  smiling, 
flushing  with  joy.  I  could  smell  the  white  lilies 
where  I  sat. 

"  But  you  don't  mean  it,  do  you  ?  "  she  said,  lift- 
ing to  him  her  face  that  was  round  and  glossy  like  a 
blackheart  cherry.  For  answer,  he  unfolded  the 
marriage  licence.  She  read  it,  and  turned  aside  her 
face  in  confusion,  saying : 

"  Well,  I've  got  to  get  ready.  Shall  you  come  an' 
tell  Gran'ma  ? " 

"  Is  there  any  need  ?  "  he  answered  reluctantly. 

"  Yes,  you  come  an  tell  'er,"  persuaded  Meg. 

He  got  down  from  the  trap.  I  preferred  to  stay 
out  of  doors.  Presently  Meg  ran  out  with  a  glass  of 
beer  for  me. 

"  We  shan't  be  many  minutes,"  she  apologised. 
"  I've  on'y  to  slip  another  frock  on." 


A   NEW    START    IN    LIFE     367 

I  heard  George  go  heavily  up  the  stairs  and  enter 
the  room  over  the  bar-parlour,  where  the  grand- 
mother lay  bed-ridden. 

"  What,  is  it  thaigh,  ma  lad  ?  What  are  thaigh 
doin'  'ere  this  mornin'  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Well  A'nt,  how  does  ta  feel  by  now  ? "  he  said. 

"  Eh,  sadly,  lad,  sadly !  It'll  not  be  long  afore  they 
carry  me  downstairs  head  first " 

"  Nay,  dunna  thee  say  so ! — I'm  just  off  to  Not- 
tingham— I  want  Meg  ter  come." 

"  What  for  ?  "  cried  the  old  woman  sharply. 

"  I  wanted  'er  to  get  married,"  he  replied. 

"What!  What  does't  say?  An'  what  about  th' 
licence,  an'  th'  ring,  an  ivrything  ? " 

"  I've  seen  to  that  all  right,"  he  answered. 

"  Well,  tha  'rt  a  nice'st  un,  I  must  say !  What's 
want  goin'  in  this  pig-in-a-poke  fashion  for?  This 
is  a  nice  shabby  trick  to  serve  a  body !  What  does  ta 
mean  by  it  ? " 

"  You  knowed  as  I  wor  goin'  ter  marry  'er  directly, 
so  I  can't  see  as  it  matters  o'  th'  day.  I  non  wanted 
a'  th'  pub  talkin' " 

"  Tha  'rt  mighty  particklar,  an'  all,  an'  all !  An' 
why  shouldn't  the  pub  talk  ?  Tha  'rt  non  marryin'  a 
nigger,  as  ta  should  be  so  frightened — I  niver 
thought  it  on  thee! — An'  what's  thy  'orry,  all  of  a 
sudden?" 

"  No  hurry  as  I  know  of." 

"  No  'orry !  "  replied  the  old  lady,  with  with- 
ering sarcasm.  "  Tha  wor  niver  in  a  'orry  a'  thy 
life !    She's  non  commin'  wi'  thee  this  day,  though." 

He  laughed,  also  sarcastic.  The  old  lady  was  an- 
gry.    She  poured  on  him  her  abuse,  declaring  she 


368      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

would  not  have  Meg  in  the  house  again,  nor  leave  her 
a  penny,  if  she  married  him  that  day. 

"  Tha  can  please  thysen,"  answered  George,  also 
angry. 

Meg  came  hurriedly  into  the  room. 

"  Ta'e  that  'at  off— ta'e  it  off !  Tha  non  goos  wi' 
'im  this  day,  not  if  I  know  it !  Does  'e  think  tha  'rt 
a  cow,  or  a  pig,  to  be  fetched  wheniver  'e  thinks  fit. 
Ta'e  that  'at  off,  I  say!" 

The  old  woman  was  fierce  and  peremptory. 

"  But  gran'ma !  "  began  Meg. 

The  bed  creaked  as  the  old  lady  tried  to  rise. 

"  Ta'e  that  'at  off,  afore  I  pull  it  off !  "  she  cried. 

"  Oh,  be  still  Gran'ma — you'll  be  hurtin'  yourself, 
you  know  you  will " 

"  Are  you  coming  Meg  ?  "  said  George  suddenly. 

"  She  is  not !  "  cried  the  old  woman. 

"  Are  you  coming  Meg  ? "  repeated  George,  in  a 
passion. 

Meg  began  to  cry.  I  suppose  she  looked  at  him 
through  her  tears.  The  next  thing  I  heard  was  a  cry 
from  the  old  woman,  and  the  sound  of  staggering 
feet. 

"  Would  ta  drag  'er  from  me ! — if  tha  goos,  ma 
wench,  tha  enters  this  'ouse  no  more,  tha  ?eers  that ! 
Tha  does  thysen  my  lady !  Dunna  venture  anigh  me 
after  this,  my  gel !  " — the  old  woman  called  louder 
and  louder.  George  appeared  in  the  doorway,  hold- 
ing Meg  by  the  arm.  She  was  crying  in  a  little  dis- 
tress. Her  hat  with  its  large  silk  roses,  was  slanting 
over  her  eyes.  She  was  dressed  in  white  linen.  They 
mounted  the  trap.  I  gave  him  the  reins  and  scram- 
bled up  behind.     The  old  woman  heard  us  through 


A   NEW    START    IN    LIFE     369 

the  open  window,  and  we  listened  to  her  calling  as 
we  drove  away: 

"  Dunna  let  me  clap  eyes  on  thee  again,  tha  un- 
grateful 'ussy,  tha  ungrateful  'ussy!  Tha'll  rue  it, 
my  wench,  tha'll  rue  it,  an'  then  dunna  come  ter 
me " 

We  drove  out  of  hearing.  George  sat  with  a  shut 
mouth,  scowling.  Meg  wept  awhile  to  herself,  woe- 
fully. We  were  swinging  at  a  good  pace  under  the 
beeches  of  the  churchyard  which  stood  above  the 
level  of  the  road.  Meg,  having  settled  her  hat,  bent 
her  head  to  the  wind,  too  much  occupied  with  her 
attire  to  weep.  We  swung  round  the  hollow  by  the 
bog  end,  and  rattled  a  short  distance  up  the  steep  hill 
to  Watnall.  Then  the  mare  walked  slowly.  Meg,  at 
leisure  to  collect  herself,  exclaimed  plaintively: 

"  Oh,  I've  only  got  one  glove !  " 

She  looked  at  the  odd  silk  glove  that  lay  in  her 
lap,  then  peered  about  among  her  skirts. 

"  I  must  'a  left  it  in  th'  bedroom,"  she  said  pite- 
ously. 

He  laughed,  and  his  anger  suddenly  vanished. 

"What  does  it  matter?  You'll  do  without  all 
right." 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice,  she  recollected,  and  her 
tears  and  her  weeping  returned. 

"  Nay,"  he  said,  "  don't  fret  about  the  old  woman. 
She'll  come  round  to-morrow — an'  if  she  doesn't,  it's 
her  lookout.     She's  got  Polly  to  attend  to  her." 

"  But  she'll  be  that  miserable !  "  wept  Meg. 

"  It's  her  own  fault.  At  any  rate,  don't  let  it 
make  you  miserable  " — he  glanced  to  see  if  anyone 
were  in  sight,  then  he  put  his  arm  round  her  waist 


370       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

and  kissed  her,  saying  softly,  coaxingly :  "  She'll  he 
all  right  to-morrow.  We'll  go  an'  see  her  then,  an' 
she'll  be  glad  enough  to  have  us.  We'll  give  in  to  her 
then,  poor  old  Gran'ma.  She  can  boss  you  about,  an' 
me  as  well,  to-morrow  as  much  as  she  likes.  She  feels 
it  hard,  being  tied  to  her  bed.  But  to-day  is  ours, 
surely — isn't  it?  To-day  is  ours,  an'  you're  not 
sorry,  are  you  ?  " 

"  But  I've  got  no  gloves,  an'  I'm  sure  my  hair's  a 
sight.  I  never  thought  she  could  'a  reached  up  like 
that." 

George  laughed,  tickled. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  she  was  in  a  temper.  But  we  can 
get  you  some  gloves  directly  we  get  to  Nottingham." 

"  I  haven't  a  farthing  of  money,"  she  said. 

"  I've  plenty !  "  he  laughed.  "  Oh,  an'  let's  try 
this  on." 

They  were  merry  together  as  he  tried  on  her  wed- 
ding ring,  and  they  talked  softly,  he  gentle  and  coax- 
ing, she  rather  plaintive.  The  mare  took  her  own 
way,  and  Meg's  hat  was  disarranged  once  more  by 
the  sweeping  elm-boughs.  The  yellow  corn  was  dip- 
ping and  flowing  in  the  fields,  like  a  cloth  of  gold 
pegged  down  at  the  corners  under  which  the  wind 
was  heaving.  Sometimes  we  passed  cottages  where 
the  scarlet  lilies  rose  like  bonfires,  and  the  tall  lark- 
spur like  bright  blue  leaping  smoke.  Sometimes  we 
smelled  the  sunshine  on  the  browning  corn,  some- 
times the  fragrance  of  the  shadow  of  leaves.  Occa- 
sionally it  was  the  dizzy  scent  of  new  haystacks. 
Then  we  rocked  and  jolted  over  the  rough  cobble- 
stones of  Cinderhill,  and  bounded  forward  again  at 
the  foot  of  the  enormous  pit  hill,  smelling  of  sul- 


A   NEW    START    IN    LIFE     371 

phur,  inflamed  with  slow  red  fires  in  the  daylight, 
and  crusted  with  ashes.  We  reached  the  top  of  the 
rise  and  saw  the  city  before  us,  heaped  high  and  dim 
upon  the  broad  range  of  the  hill.  I  looked  for  the 
square  tower  of  my  old  school,  and  the  sharp  proud 
spire  of  St.  Andrews.  Over  the  city  hung  a  dullness, 
a  thin  dirty  canopy  against  the  blue  sky. 

We  turned  and  swung  down  the  slope  between  the 
last  sullied  cornfields  towards  Basford,  where  the 
swollen  gasometers  stood  like  toadstools.  As  we 
neared  the  mouth  of  the  street,  Meg  rose  excitedly, 
pulling  George's  arm,  crying: 

"  Oh,  look,  the  poor  little  thing !  " 

On  the  causeway  stood  two  small  boys  lifting  their 
faces  and  weeping  to  the  heedless  heavens,  while 
before  them,  upside  down,  lay  a  baby  strapped  to  a 
shut-up  baby-chair.  The  gim-crack  carpet-seated 
thing  had  collapsed  as  the  boys  were  dismounting  the 
curb-stone  with  it.  It  had  fallen  backwards,  and 
they  were  unable  to  right  it.  There  lay  the  infant 
strapped  head  downwards  to  its  silly  cart,  in  immi- 
nent danger  of  suffocation.  Meg  leaped  out,  and 
dragged  the  child  from  the  wretched  chair.  The  two 
boys,  drenched  with  tears,  howled  on.  Meg  crouched 
on  the  road,  the  baby  on  her  knee,  its  tiny  feet  dan- 
gling against  her  skirt.  She  soothed  the  pitiful  tear- 
wet  mite.  She  hugged  it  to  her,  and  kissed  it,  and 
hugged  it,  and  rocked  it  in  an  abandonment  of  pity. 
When  at  last  the  childish  trio  were  silent,  the  boys 
shaken  only  by  the  last  ebbing  sobs,  Meg  calmed  also 
from  her  frenzy  of  pity  for  the  little  thing.  She 
murmured  to  it  tenderly,  and  wiped  its  wet  little 
cheeks  with  her  handkerchief,  soothing,  kissing,  fon- 


372       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

dling  the  bewildered  mite,  smoothing  the  wet  strands 
of  brown  hair  under  the  scrap  of  cotton  bonnet, 
twitching  the  inevitable  baby  cape  into  order.  It 
was  a  pretty  baby,  with  wisps  of  brown-gold  silken 
hair,  and  large  blue  eyes. 

"  Is  it  a  girl  ?  "  I  asked  one  of  the  boys — "  How 
old  is  she  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered  awkwardly,  "  We 
've  'ad  'er  about  a  three  week." 

"  Why,  isn't  she  your  sister  ?  " 

"  ~No — my  mother  keeps  'er," — they  were  very  re- 
luctant to  tell  us  anything. 

"  Poor  little  lamb !  "  cried  Meg,  in  another  access 
of  pity,  clasping  the  baby  to  her  bosom  with  one 
hand,  holding  its  winsome  slippered  feet  in  the 
other.  She  remained  thus,  stung  through  with  acute 
pity,  crouching,  folding  herself  over  the  mite.  At 
last  she  raised  her  head,  and  said,  in  a  voice  difficult 
with  emotion: 

"  But  you  love  her — don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes — she's — she's  all  right.  But  we  'ave  to  mind 
'er,"  replied  the  boy  in  great  confusion. 

"  Surely,"  said  Meg,  "  Surely  you  don't  begrudge 
that.  Poor  little  thing — so  little,  she  is — surely  you 
don't  grumble  at  minding  her  a  bit ?  " 

The  boys  would  not  answer. 

"  Oh,  poor  little  lamb,  poor  little  lamb !  "  mur- 
mured Meg  over  the  child,  condemning  with  bitter- 
ness the  boys  and  the  whole  world  of  men. 

I  taught  one  of  the  lads  how  to  fold  and  unfold 
the  wretched  chair.  Meg  very  reluctantly  seated  the 
unfortunate  baby  therein,  gently  fastening  her  with 
the  strap. 


A   NEW    START    IN    LIFE     373 

"  Wheer's  'er  dummy  ? "  asked  one  of  the  boys  in 
muffled,  self-conscious  tones.  The  infant  began  to 
cry  thinly.  Meg  crouched  over  it.  The  '  dummy ' 
was  found  in  the  gutter  and  wiped  on  the  boy's 
coat,  then  plugged  into  the  baby's  mouth.  Meg 
released  the  tiny  clasping  hand  from  over  her 
finger,  and  mounted  the  dog  cart,  saying  sternly  to 
the  boys : 

"  Mind  you  look  after  her  well,  poor  little  baby 
with  no  mother.  God's  watching  to  see  what  you  do 
to  her — so  you  be  careful,  mind." 

They  stood  very  shamefaced.  George  clicked  to 
the  mare,  and  as  we  started  threw  coppers  to  the  boys. 
While  we  drove  away  I  watched  the  little  group 
diminish  down  the  road. 

"  It's  such  a  shame,"  she  said,  and  the  tears  were  in 
her  voice,  " — A  sweet  little  thing  like  that " 

"  Ay,"  said  George,  softly,  "  there's  all  sorts  of 
things  in  towns." 

Meg  paid  no  attention  to  him,  but  sat  woman-like 
thinking  of  the  forlorn  baby,  and  condemning  the 
hard  world.  He,  ifull  of  tenderness  and  protective- 
ness  towards  her,  having  watched  her  with  softening 
eyes,  felt  a  little  bit  rebuffed  that  she  ignored  him, 
and  sat  alone  in  her  fierce  womanhood.  So  he  busied 
himself  with  the  reins,  and  the  two  sat  each  alone 
until  Meg  was  roused  by  the  bustle  of  the  town.  The 
mare  sidled  past  the  electric  cars  nervously,  'and 
jumped  when  a  traction  engine  came  upon  us.  Meg, 
rather  frightened,  clung  to  George  again.  She  was 
very  glad  when  we  had  passed  the  cemetery  with  its 
white  population  of  tombstones,  and  drew  up  in  a 
quiet  street. 


374      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

But  when  we  had  dismounted,  and  given  the  horse's 
head  to  a  loafer,  she  became  confused  and  bashful 
and  timid  to  the  last  degree.  He  took  her  on  his 
arm ;  he  took  the  whole  charge  of  her,  and  laughing, 
bore  her  away  towards  the  steps  of  the  office.  She 
left  herself  entirely  in  his  hands;  she  was  all  con- 
fusion, so  he  took  the  charge  of  her. 

When,  after  a  short  time,  they  came  out,  she  began 
to  chatter  with  blushful  animation.  He  was  very 
quiet,  and  seemed  to  be  taking  his  breath. 

"  Wasn't  he  a  funny  little  man  ?  Did  I  do  it  all 
proper  ? — I  didn't  know  what  I  was  doing.  I'm  sure 
they  were  laughing  at  me — do  you  think  they  were  ? 
Oh,  just  look  at  my  frock — what  a  sight!     What 

would  they  think !  "     The  baby  had   slightly 

soiled  the  front  of  her  dress. 

George  drove  up  the  long  hill  into  the  town.  As 
we  came  down  between  the  shops  on  Mansfield  Eoad 
he  recovered  his  spirits. 

"  Where  are  we  going — where  are  you  taking  us  ?  " 
asked  Meg. 

"  We  may  as  well  make  a  day  of  it  while  we  are 
here,"  he  answered,  smiling  and  flicking  the  mare. 
They  both  felt  that  they  were  launched  forth  on  an 
adventure.  He  put  up  at  the  "  Spread  Eagle,"  and 
we  walked  towards  the  market-place  for  Meg's  gloves. 
When  he  had  bought  her  these  and  a  large  lace  scarf 
to  give  her  a  more  clothed  appearance,  he  wanted 
dinner. 

"  We'll  go,"  he  said,  "  to  an  hotel." 

His  eyes  dilated  as  he  said  it,  and  she  shrank  away 
with  delighted  fear.  Neither  of  them  had  ever  been 
to  an  hotel.     She  was  really  afraid.     She  begged  him 


A   NEW    START    IN    LIFE     375 

to  go  to  an  eating  house,  to  a  cafe.  He  was  obdurate. 
His  one  idea  was  to  do  the  thing  that  he  was  half- 
afraid  to  do.  His  passion — and  it  was  almost  intoxi- 
cation— was  to  dare  to  play  with  life.  He  was  afraid 
of  the  town.  He  was  afraid  to  venture  into  the 
foreign  places  of  life,  and  all  was  foreign  save  the 
valley  of  Kethermere.  So  he  crossed  the  borders 
flauntingly,  and  marched  towards  the  heart  of  the  un- 
known. We  went  to  the  Victoria  Hotel — the  most 
imposing  he  could  think  of — and  we  had  luncheon 
according  to  the  menu.  They  were  like  two  children, 
very  much  afraid,  yet  delighting  in  the  adventure. 
He  dared  not,  however,  give  the  orders.  He  dared 
not  address  anybody,  waiters  or  otherwise.  I  did 
that  for  him,  and  he  watched  me,  absorbing,  learning, 
wondering  that  things  were  so  easy  and  so  delightful. 
I  murmured  them  injunctions  across  the  table  and 
they  blushed  and  laughed  with  each  other  nervously. 
It  would  be  hard  to  say  whether  they  enjoyed  that 
luncheon.  I  think  Meg  did  not— even  though  she 
was  with  him.  But  of  George  I  am  doubtful.  He 
suffered  exquisitely  from  self  consciousness  and 
nervous  embarrassment,  but  he  felt  also  the  intoxi- 
cation of  the  adventure,  he  felt  as  a  man  who  has 
lived  in  a  small  island  when  he  first  sets  foot  on  a 
vast  continent.  This  was  the  first  step  into  a  new 
life,  and  he  mused  delightedly  upon  it  over  his 
brandy.  Yet  he  was  nervous.  He  could  not  get  over 
the  feeling  that  he  was  trespassing. 

"  Where  shall  we  go  this  afternoon  I  "  he  asked. 

Several  things  were  proposed,  but  Meg  pleaded 
warmly  for  Colwick. 

"  Let's  go  on  a  steamer  to  Colwick  Park.     There'll 


376       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

be  entertainments  there  this  afternoon.  It'll  be 
lovely." 

In  a  few  moments  we  were  on  the  top  of  the  car 
swinging  down  to  the  Trent  Bridges.  It  was  dinner 
time,  and  crowds  of  people  from  shops  and  ware- 
houses were  hurrying  in  the  sunshine  along  the  pave- 
ments. Sunblinds  cast  their  shadows  on  the  shop- 
fronts,  and  in  the  shade  streamed  the  people  dressed 
brightly  for  summer.  As  our  car  stood  in  the  great 
space  of  the  market  place  we  could  smell  the  mingled 
scent  of  fruit,  oranges,  and  small  apricots,  and  pears 
piled  in  their  vividly  coloured  sections  on  the  stalls. 
Then  away  we  sailed  through  the  shadows  of  the 
dark  streets,  and  the  open  pools  of  sunshine.  The 
castle  on  its  high  rock  stood  in  the  dazzling  dry  sun- 
light ;  the  fountain  stood  shadowy  in  the  green  glim- 
mer of  the  lime  trees  that  surrounded  the  alms- 
houses. 

There  were  many  people  at  the  Trent.  We  stood 
awhile  on  the  bridge  to  watch  the  bright  river  swirl- 
ing in  a  silent  dance  to  the  sea,  while  the  light  pleas- 
ure-boats lay  asleep  along  the  banks.  We  went  on 
board  the  little  paddle  steamer  and  paid  our  "  sixpence 
return."  After  much  waiting  we  set  off,  with  great 
excitement,  for  our  mile-long  voyage.  Two  banjos 
were  tumming  somewhere  below,  and  the  passengers 
hummed  and  sang  to  their  tunes.  A  few  boats  dab- 
bled on  the  water.  Soon  the  river  meadows  with 
their  high  thorn  hedges  lay  green  on  our  right,  while 
the  scarp  of  red  rock  rose  on  our  left,  covered  with 
the  dark  trees  of  summer. 

We  landed  at  Colwick  Park.  It  was  early,  and 
few  people  were  there.  Dead  glass  fairy-lamps  were 
slung  about  the  trees.     The  grass  in  places  was  worn 


A   NEW    START    IN   LIFE     377 

threadbare.  We  walked  through  the  avenues  and 
small  glades  of  the  park  till  we  came  to  the  boundary 
where  the  race-course  stretched  its  level  green,  its 
winding  white  barriers  running  low  into  the  distance. 
They  sat  in  the  shade  for  some  time  while  I  wan- 
dered about.  Then  many  people  began  to  arrive.  It 
became  noisy,  even  rowdy.  We  listened  for  some 
time  to  an  open-air  concert,  given  by  the  pierrots. 
It  was  rather  vulgar,  and  very  tiresome.  It  took  me 
back  to  Cowes,  to  Yarmouth.  There  were  the  same 
foolish  over-eyebrowed  faces,  the  same  perpetual 
jingle  from  an  out-of-tune  piano,  the  restless  jigging 
to  the  songs,  the  same  choruses,  the  same  escapading. 
Meg  was  well  pleased.  The  vulgarity  passed  by  her. 
She  laughed,  and  sang  the  choruses  half  audibly,  dar- 
ing, but  not  bold.  She  was  immensely  pleased. 
"  Oh,  it's  Ben's  turn  now.  I  like  him,  he's  got  such  a 
wicked  twinkle  in  his  eye.  Look  at  Joey  trying  to 
be  funny ! — he  can't  to  save  his  life.  Doesn't  he  look 
soft !  "  She  began  to  giggle  in  George's  shoul- 
der. He  saw  the  funny  side  of  things  for  the  time 
and  laughed  with  her. 

During  tea,  which  we  took  on  the  green  verandah 
of  the  degraded  hall,  she  was  constantly  breaking 
forth  into  some  chorus,  and  he  would  light  up  as  she 
looked  at  him  and  sing  with  her,  sotto  voce.  He  was 
not  embarrassed  at  Colwick.  There  he  had  on  his 
best  careless,  superior  air.  He  moved  about  with  a 
certain  scornfulness,  and  ordered  lobster  for  tea  off- 
handedly. This  also  was  a  new  walk  of  life.  Here 
he  was  not  hesitating  or  tremulously  strung;  he  was 
patronising.  Both  Meg  and  he  thoroughly  enjoyed 
themselves. 


378      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

When  we  got  back  into  Nottingham  she  entreated 
him  not  to  go  to  the  hotel  as  he  had  proposed,  and  he 
readily  yielded.  Instead  they  went  to  the  Castle. 
We  stood  on  the  high  rock  in  the  cool  of  the  day, 
and  watched  the  sun  sloping  over  the  great  river-flats 
where  the  menial  town  spread  out,  and  ended,  while 
the  river  and  the  meadows  continued  into  the  dis- 
tance. In  the  picture  galleries,  there  was  a  fine  col- 
lection of  Arthur  Melville's  paintings.  Meg  thought 
them  very  ridiculous.  I  began  to  expound  them,  but 
she  was  manifestly  bored,  and  he  was  half-hearted. 
Outside  in  the  grounds  was  a  military  band  playing. 
Meg  longed  to  be  there.  The  townspeople  were  danc- 
ing on  the  grass.  She  longed  to  join  them,  but  she 
could  not  dance.     So  they  sat  awhile  looking  on. 

We  were  to  go  to  the  theatre  in  the  evening.  The 
Carl  Rosa  Company  was  giving  "  Carmen "  at  the 
Royal.  We  went  into  the  dress  circle.  "  like  giddy 
dukes,"  as  I  said  to  him,  so  that  I  could  see  his  eyes 
dilate  with  adventure  again  as  he  laughed.  In  the 
theatre,  among  the  people  in  evening  dress,  he  became 
once  more  childish  and  timorous.  He  had  always  the 
air  of  one  who  does  something  forbidden,  and  is 
charmed,  yet  fearful,  like  a  trespassing  child.  He 
had  begun  to  trespass  that  day  outside  his  own  estates 
of  Nethermere. 

"  Carmen "  fascinated  them  both.  The  gaudy, 
careless  Southern  life  amazed  them.  The  bold  free 
way  in  which  Carmen  played  with  life  startled  them 
with  hints  of  freedom.  They  stared  on  the  stage 
fascinated.  Between  the  acts  they  held  each  other's 
hands,  and  looked  full  into  each  other's  wide  bright 
eyes,  and,  laughing  with  excitement,  talked  about  the 


A   NEW    START    IN   LIFE     379 

opera.  The  theatre  surged  and  roared  dimly  like  a 
hoarse  shell.  Then  the  music  rose  like  a  storm,  and 
swept  and  rattled  at  their  feet.  On  the  stage  the 
strange  storm  of  life  clashed  in  music  towards  tragedy 
and  futile  death.  The  two  were  shaken  with  a  tumult 
of  wild  feeling.  When  it  was  all  over  they  rose  be- 
wildered, stunned,  she  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  he  with 
a  strange  wild  beating  of  his  heart. 

They  were  both  in  a  tumult  of  confused  emotion. 
Their  ears  were  full  of  the  roaring  passion  of  life, 
and  their  eyes  were  blinded  by  a  spray  of  tears  and 
that  strange  quivering  laughter  which  burns  with  real 
pain.  They  hurried  along  the  pavement  to  the 
"  Spread  Eagle,"  Meg  clinging  to  him,  running,  clasp- 
ing her  lace  scarf  over  her  white  frock,  like  a  scared 
white  butterfly  shaken  through  the  night  We  hardly 
spoke  as  the  horse  was  being  harnessed  and  the  lamps 
lighted.  In  the  little  smoke,  room  he  drank  several 
whiskies,  she  sipping  out  of  his  glass,  standing  all  the 
time  ready  to  go.  He  pushed  into  his  pocket  great 
pieces  of  bread  and  cheese,  to  eat  on  the  way  home. 
He  seemed  now  to  be  thinking  with  much  acuteness. 
His  few  orders  were  given  sharp  and  terse.  He 
hired  an  extra  light  rug  in  which  to  wrap  Meg,  and 
then  we  were  ready. 

"  Who  drives  ?  "  said  I. 

He  looked  at  me  and  smiled  faintly. 

"  You,"  he  answered. 

Meg,  like  an  impatient  white  flame  stood  waiting 
in  the  light  of  the  lamps.  He  covered  her,  extin- 
guished her  in  the  dark  rug. 


CHAPTER    II 

PUFFS    OF    WIND    IN    THE   SATL 

The  year  burst  into  glory  to  usher  us  forth  out  of 
the  valley  of  Nethercnere.  The  cherry  trees  had  been 
gorgeous  with  heavy  out-reaching  boughs  of  red  and 
gold.  Immense  vegetable  marrows  lay  prostrate  in 
the  bottom  garden,  their  great  tentacles  clutching  the 
pond  bank.  Against  the  wall  the  globed  crimson 
plums  hung  close  together,  and  dropped  occasionally 
with  a  satisfied  plunge  into  the  rhubarb  leaves.  The 
crop  of  oats  was  very  heavy.  The  stalks  of  corn  were 
like  strong  reeds  of  bamboo ;  the  heads  of  grain  swept 
heavily  over  like  tresses  weighted  with  drops  of  gold. 
George  spent  his  time  between  the  Mill  and  the 
Ram.  The  grandmother  had  received  them  with 
much  grumbling  but  with  real  gladness.  Meg  was 
re-installed,  and  George  slept  at  the  Ram.  He  was 
extraordinarily  bright,  almost  gay.  The  fact  was 
that  his  new  life  interested  and  pleased  him  keenly. 
He  often  talked  to  me  about  Meg,  how  quaint  and 
naive  she  was,  how  she  amused  him  and  delighted  him. 
He  rejoiced  in  having  a  place  of  his  own,  a  home,  and 
a  beautiful  wife  who  adored  him.  Then  the  public- 
house  was  full  of  strangeness  and  interest.  No  hour 
was  ever  dull.  If  he  wanted  company  he  could  go  into 
the  smoke-room,  if  he  wanted  quiet  he  could  sit  with 
Meg,  and  she  was  such  a  treat,  so  soft  and  warm,  and 

380 


PUFFS    OF    WIND    IN    SAIL    381 

so  amusing.  He  was  always  laughing  at  her  quaint 
crude  notions,  and  at  her  queer  little  turns  of  speech. 
She  talked  to  him  with  a  little  language,  she  sat  on 
his  knee  and  twisted  his  mustache,  finding  small 
unreal  fault  with  his  features  for  the  delight  of 
dwelling  upon  them.  He  was,  he  said,  incredibly 
happy.  Keally  he  could  not  believe  it.  Meg  was, 
ah !  she  was  a  treat.  Then  he  would  laugh,  thinking 
how  indifferent  he  had  been  about  taking  her.  A 
little  shadow  might  cross  his  eyes,  but  he  would  laugh 
again,  and  tell  me  one  of  his  wife's  funny  little 
notions.  She  was  quite  uneducated,  and  such  fun, 
he  said.  I  looked  at  him  as  he  sounded  this  note. 
I  remembered  his  crude  superiority  of  early  days, 
which  had  angered  Emily  so  deeply.  There  was  in 
him  something  of  the  prig.  I  did  not  like  his  amused 
indulgence  of  his  wife. 

At  threshing  day,  when  I  worked  for  the  last  time 
at  the  Mill,  I  noticed  the  new  tendency  in  him.  The 
Saxtons  had  always  kept  up  a  certain  proud  reserve. 
In  former  years,  the  family  had  moved  into  the  par- 
lour on  threshing  day,  and  an  extra  woman  had  been 
hired  to  wait  on  the  men  who  came  with  the  machine. 
This  time  George  suggested :  "  Let  us  have  dinner 
with  the  men  in  the  kitchen,  Cyril.  They  are  a  rum 
gang.  It's  rather  good  sport  mixing  with  them. 
They've  seen  a  bit  of  life,  and  I  like  to  hear  them, 
they're  so  blunt.     They're  good  studies  though." 

The  farmer  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table.  The  seven 
men  trooped  in,  very  sheepish,  and  took  their  places. 
They  had  not  much  to  say  at  first.  They  were  a 
mixed  set,  some  rather  small,  young,  and  furtive  look- 
ing, some  unshapely  and  coarse,  with  unpleasant  eyes, 


382       THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

the  eyelids  slack.  There  was  one  man  whom  we 
called  the  Parrot,  because  he  had  a  hooked  nose,  and 
put  forward  his  head  as  he  talked.  He  had  been  a 
very  large  man,  but  he  was  grey,  and  bending  at  the 
shoulders.  His  face  was  pale  and  fleshy,  and  his 
eyes  seemed  dull  sighted. 

George  patronised  the  men,  and  they  did  not  ob- 
ject. He  chaffed  them,  making  a  good  deal  of 
demonstration  in  giving  them  more  beer.  He  invited 
them  to  pass  up  their  plates,  called  the  woman  to  bring 
more  bread  and  altogether  played  mine  host  of  a  feast 
of  beggars.     The  Parrot  ate  very  slowly. 

"  Come  Dad,"  said  George  "  you're  not  getting  on. 
Not  got  many  grinders ?  " 

"  What  Fve  got's  in  th'  road.  Is'll  'ae  ter  get  em 
out.     I  can  manage  wi'  bare  gums,  like  a  baby  again." 

"  Second  childhood,  eh  %  Ah  well,  we  must  all 
come  to  it,"  George  laughed. 

The  old  man  lifted  his  head  and  looked  at  him, 
and  said  slowly : 

"  You'n  got  ter  ower  th'  first  afore  that." 

George  laughed,  unperturbed.  Evidently  he  was 
well  used  to  the  thrusts  of  the  public-house. 

"  I  suppose  you  soon  got  over  yours,"  he  said. 

The  old  man  raised  himself  and  his  eyes  flickered 
into  life.     He  chewed  slowly,  then  said : 

"  I'd  married,  an'  paid  for  it ;  I'd  broke  a  con- 
stable's jaw  an'  paid  for  it;  I'd  deserted  from  the 
army,  an'  paid  for  that :  I'd  had  a  bullet  through  my 
cheek  in  India  atop  of  it  all,  by  I  was  your  age." 

"  Oh !  "  said  George,  with  condescending  interest, 
"  you've  seen  a  bit  of  life  then  %  " 

They  drew  the  old  man  out,  and  he  told  them,  in 


PUFFS    OF    WIND    IN    SAIL    383 

his  slow,  laconic  fashion,  a  few  brutal  stories.  They 
laughed  and  chaffed  him.  George  seemed  to  have  a 
thirst  for  tales  of  brutal  experience,  the  raw  gin  of 
life.  He  drank  it  all  in  with  relish,  enjoying  the 
sensation.  The  dinner  was  over.  It  was  time  to  go 
out  again  to  work. 

"  And  how  old  are  you,  Dad  ? "  George  asked. 
The  Parrot  looked  at  him  again  with  his  heavy,  tired, 
ironic  eyes,  and  answered: 

"  If  you'll  be  any  better  for  knowing — sixty-four." 

"  It's  a  bit  rough  on  you,  isn't  it,"  continued  the 
young  man,  "  going  round  with  the  threshing  machine 
and  sleeping  outdoors  at  that  time  of  life  ?  I  should 
'a  thought  you'd  'a  wanted  a  bit  o'  comfort " 

"  How  do  you  mean,  '  rough  on  me '  ?  "  the  Parrot 
replied  slowly. 

"  Oh,  I  think  you  know  what  I  mean,"  answered 
George  easily. 

"  Don't  know  as  I  do,"  said  the  slow  old  Parrot. 

"  Well,  you  haven't  made  exactly  a  good  thing  out 
of  life,  have  you  ?  " 

"  What  d'you  mean  by  a  good  thing  ?  I've  had 
my  life,  an'  I'm  satisfied  wi'  it.  Is'll  die  with  a 
full  belly." 

"  Oh,  so  you  have  saved  a  bit  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  old  man  deliberately,  "  I've  spent 
as  I've  gone  on.  An'  I've  had  all  I  wish  for.  But 
I  pity  the  angels,  when  the  Lord  sets  me  before  them 
like  a  book  to  read.  Heaven  won't  be  heaven  just 
then." 

"  You're  a  philosopher  in  your  way,"  laughed 
George. 

"  And  you,"  replied  the  old  man,  "  toddling  about 


384      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

your  back-yard,  think  yourself  mighty  wise.  But 
your  wisdom  '11  go  with  your  teeth.  You'll  learn  in 
time  to  say  nothing." 

The  old  man  went  out  and  began  his  work,  carry- 
ing the  sacks  of  corn  from  the  machine  to  the  cham- 
ber. 

"  There's  a  lot  in  the  old  Parrot,"  said  George,  "  as 
he'll  never  tell." 

I  laughed. 

"  He  makes  you  feel,  as  well,  as  if  you'd  a  lot  to 
discover  in  life,"  he  continued,  looking  thoughtfully 
over  the  dusty  straw-stack  at  the  chuffing  machine. 

After  the  harvest  was  ended  the  father  began  to 
deplete  his  farm.  Most  of  the  stock  was  transferred 
to  the  "  Ram."  George  was  going  to  take  over  his 
father's  milk  business,  and  was  going  to  farm  enough 
of  the  land  attaching  to  the  Inn  to  support  nine  or 
ten  cows.  Until  the  spring,  however,  Mr.  Saxton 
retained  his  own  milk  round,  and  worked  at  improv- 
ing the  condition  of  the  land  ready  for  the  valuation. 
George,  with  three  cows,  started  a  little  milk  supply 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Inn,  prepared  his  land 
for  the  summer,  and  helped  in  the  public-house. 

Emily  was  the  first  to  depart  finally  from  the  Mill. 
She  went  to  a  school  in  Nottingham,  and  shortly  after- 
wards Mollie,  her  younger  sister,  went  to  her.  In 
October  I  moved  to  London.  Lettie  and  Leslie  were 
settled  in  their  home  in  Brentwood,  Yorkshire.  We 
all  felt  very  keenly  our  exile  from  Nethermere.  But 
as  yet  the  bonds  were  not  broken;  only  use  could 
sever  them.  Christmas  brought  us  all  home  again, 
hastening  to  greet  each  other.     There  was  a  slight 


PUFFS    OF    WIND    IN    SAIL    385 

change  in  everybody.  Lettie  was  brighter,  more  im- 
perious, and  very  gay;  Emily  was  quiet,  self -re- 
strained, and  looked  happier;  Leslie  was  jollier  and 
at  the  same  time  more  subdued  and  earnest ;  George 
looked  very  healthy  and  happy,  and  sounded  well 
pleased  with  himself ;  my  mother  with  her  gaiety  at 
our  return  brought  tears  to  our  eyes. 

We  dined  one  evening  at  Highclose  with  the  Tem- 
pests. It  was  dull  as  usual,  and  we  left  before  ten 
o'clock.  Lettie  had  changed  her  shoes  and  put  on  a 
fine  cloak  of  greenish  blue.  We  walked  over  the 
frost-bound  road.  The  ice  on  Nethermere  gleamed 
mysteriously  in  the  moonlight,  and  uttered  strange 
half-audible  whoops  and  yelps.  The  moon  was  very 
high  in  the  sky,  small  and  brilliant  like  a  vial  full 
of  the  pure  white  liquid  of  light.  There  was  no 
sound  in  the  night  save  the  haunting  movement  of 
the  ice,  and  the  clear  tinkle  of  Lettie' s  laughter. 

On  the  drive  leading  to  the  wood  we  saw  someone 
approaching.  The  wild  grass  was  grey  on  either 
side,  the  thorn  trees  stood  with  shaggy  black  beards 
sweeping  down,  the  pine  trees  were  erect  like  dark 
soldiers.  The  black  shape  of  the  man  drew  near, 
with  a  shadow  running  at  its  feet.  I  recognised 
George,  obscured  as  he  was  in  his  cap  and  his  up- 
turned collar.  Lettie  was  in  front  with  her  hus- 
band. As  George  was  passing,  she  said,  in  bright 
clear  tones: 

"  A  Happy  New  Year  to  you." 

He  stopped,  swung  round,  and  laughed. 

"  I  thought  you  wouldn't  have  known  me,"  he 
said. 

"  What,  is  it  you  George  ? "  cried  Lettie  in  great 


386      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

surprise — "Now,  what  a  joke!  How  are  you?" — 
she  put  out  her  white  hand  from  her  draperies. 
He  took  it,  and  answered,  "  I  am  very  well — and 
you —  ?  "  However  meaningless  the  words  were,  the 
tone  was  curiously  friendly,  intimate,  informal. 

"  As  you  see,"  she  replied  laughing,  interested  in 
his  attitude — "  but  where  are  you  going  I  " 

"  I  am  going  home,"  he  answered,  in  a  voice  that 
meant  "  have  you  forgotten  that  I  too  am  married  ?  " 

"  Oh,  of  course !  "  cried  Lettie.  "  You  are  now 
mine  host  of  the  Ram.  You  must  tell  me  about  it. 
May  I  ask  him  to  come  home  with  us  for  an  hour, 
mother? — It  is  New  Year's  Eve,  you  know." 

"  You  have  asked  him  already,"  laughed  mother. 

"  Will  Mrs.  Saxton  spare  you  for  so  long  ?  "  asked 
Lettie  of  George. 

"  Meg  ?  Oh,  she  does  not  order  my  comings  and 
goings." 

"  Does  she  not  ?  "  laughed  Lettie.  "  She  is  very 
unwise.     Train  up  a  husband  in  the  way  he  should 

go,  and  in  after  life .    I  never  could  quote  a  text 

from  end  to  end.    I  am  full  of  beginnings,  but  as  for 

a  finish !     Leslie,  my  shoe-lace  is  untied — shall 

I  wait  till  I  can  put  my  foot  on  the  fence  ? " 

Leslie  knelt  down  at  her  feet.  She  shook  the  hood 
back  from  her  head,  and  her  ornaments  sparkled  in 
the  moonlight.  Her  face  with  its  whiteness  and  its 
shadows  was  full  of  fascination,  and  in  their  dark 
recesses  her  eyes  thrilled  George  with  hidden  magic. 
She  smiled  at  him  along  her  cheeks  while  her  hus- 
band crouched  before  her.  Then,  as  the  three 
walked  along  towards  the  wood  she  flung  her  draper- 
ies into  loose  eloquence  and  there  was  a  glimpse  of 


PUFFS    OF   WIND    IN    SAIL    387 

her  bosom  white  with  the  moon.  She  laughed  and 
chattered,  and  shook  her  silken  stuffs,  sending  out  a 
perfume  exquisite  on  the  frosted  air.  When  we 
reached  the  house  Lettie  dropped  her  draperies  and 
rustled  into  the  drawing-room.  There  the  lamp  was 
low-lit,  shedding  a  yellow  twilight  from  the  window 
space.  Lettie  stood  between  the  firelight  and  the 
dusky  lamp  glow,  tall  and  warm  between  the  lights. 
As  she  turned  laughing  to  the  two  men,  she  let  her 
cloak  slide  over  her  white  shoulder  and  fall  with  silk 
splendour  of  a  peacock's  gorgeous  blue  over  the  arm 
of  the  large  settee.  There  she  stood,  with  her  white 
hand  upon  the  peacock  of  her  cloak,  where  it  tum- 
bled against  her  dull  orange  dress.  She  knew  her 
own  splendour,  and  she  drew  up  her  throat  laughing 
and  brilliant  with  triumph.  Then  she  raised  both 
her  arms  to  her  head  and  remained  for  a  moment 
delicately  touching  her  hair  into  order,  still  fronting 
the  two  men.  Then  with  a  final  little  laugh  she 
moved  slowly  and  turned  up  the  lamp,  dispelling 
some  of  the  witchcraft  from  the  room.  She  had  de- 
veloped strangely  in  six  months.  She  seemed  to 
have  discovered  the  wonderful  charm  of  her  woman- 
hood. As  she  leaned  forward  with  her  arm  out- 
stretched to  the  lamp,  as  she  delicately  adjusted  the 
wicks  with  mysterious  fingers,  she  seemed  to  be  mov- 
ing in  some  alluring  figure  of  a  dance,  her  hair  like 
a  nimbus  clouding  the  light,  her  bosom  lit  with  won- 
der. The  soft  outstretching  of  her  hand  was  like 
the  whispering  of  strange  words  into  the  blood,  and 
as  she  fingered  a  book  the  heart  watched  silently 
for  the  meaning. 

"  Won't  you  take  off  my  shoes,  darling  ?  "  she  said, 


388      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

sinking  among  the  cushions  of  the  settee.  Leslie 
kneeled  again  before  her,  and  she  bent  her  head  and 
watched  him. 

"  My  feet  are  a  tiny  bit  cold,"  she  said,  plain- 
tively, giving  him  her  foot,  that  seemed  like  gold  in 
the  yellow  silk  stocking.  He  took  it  between  his 
hands,  stroking  it: 

"  It  is  quite  cold,"  he  said,  and  he  held  both  he* 
feet  in  his  hands. 

"  Ah,  you  dear  boy !  "  she  cried  with  sudden 
gentleness,  bending  forward  and  touching  his 
cheek. 

"  Is  it  great  fun  being  mine  host  of  i  Ye  Kamme 
Inne  ? '  "  she  said,  playfully  to  George.  There 
seemed  a  long  distance  between  them  now  as  she  sat, 
with  the  man  in  evening  dress  crouching  before  her 
putting  golden  shoes  on  her  feet. 

"  It  is  rather,"  he  replied,  "  the  men  in  the  smoke 
room  say  such  rum  things.  My  word,  you  hear  some 
tales  there." 

"Tell  us,  do!"  she  pleaded. 

"  Oh !  I  couldn't.  I  never  could  tell  a  tale,  and 
even  if  I  could — well ." 

"  But  I  do  long  to  hear,"  she  said,  "  what  the  men 
say  in  the  smoke  room  of  '  Ye  Eamme  Inne.'  Is  it 
quite  untellable  ?  " 

"Quite!  "he  laughed. 

"  What  a  pity !  See  what  a  cruel  thing  it  is  to  be 
a  woman,  Leslie:  we  never  know  what  men  say  in 
smoke  rooms,  while  you  read  in  your  novels  every- 
thing a  woman  ever  uttered.  It  is  a  shame !  George, 
you  are  a  wretch,  you  should  tell  me.  I  do  envy 
you ." 


PUFFS    OF    WIND    IN    SAIL    389 

"  What  do  you  envy  me,  exactly  ? "  lie  asked 
laughing  always  at  her  whimsical  way. 

"  Your  smoke  room.  The  way  you  see  life — or 
the  way  you  hear  it,  rather." 

"  But  I  should  have  thought  you  saw  life  ten 
times  more  than  me,"  he  replied. 

"  I !  I  only  see  manners — good  manners  and  bad 
manners.  You  know  i  manners  maketh  a  man.' 
That's  when  a  woman's  there.  But  you  wait  awhile, 
you'll  see." 

"  When  shall  I  see  ?  "  asked  George,  flattered  and 
interested. 

"  When  you  have  made  the  fortune  you  talked 
about,"  she  replied. 

He  was  uplifted  by  her  remembering  the  things 
he  had  said. 

"  But  when  I  have  made  it — when !  " — he  said 
sceptically, — "  even  then — well,  I  shall  only  be,  or 
have  been,  landlord  of  '  Ye  Ramme  Inne.'  "  He 
looked  at  her,  waiting  for  her  to  lift  up  his  hopes 
with  her  gay  balloons. 

"  Oh,  that  doesn't  matter !  Leslie  might  be  land- 
lord of  some  Ram  Inn  when  he's  at  home,  for 
all  anybody  would  know — mightn't  you,  hubby, 
dear?" 

"  Thanks !  "  replied  Leslie,  with  good  humoured 
sarcasm. 

"  You  can't  tell  a  publican  from  a  peer,  if  he's  a 
rich  publican,"  she  continued.  "  Money  maketh  the 
man,  you  know." 

"  Plus  manners,"  added  George,  laughing. 

"  Oh  they  are  always  there — where  I  am.  I  give 
you  ten  years.     At  the  end  of  that  time  you  must 


390      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

invite  us  to  your  swell  place — say  the  Hall  at  Eber- 
wich — and  we  will  come — '  with  all  our  numerous 
array.'  " 

She  sat  among  her  cushions  smiling  upon  him. 
She  was  half  ironical,  half  sincere.  He  smiled  back 
at  her,  his  dark  eyes  full  of  trembling  hope,  and 
pleasure,  and  pride. 

"  How  is  Meg  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Is  she  as  charming 
as  ever — or  have  you  spoiled  her  ?  " 

"  Oh,  she  is  as  charming  as  ever,"  he  replied. 
"  And  we  are  tremendously  fond  of  one  another." 

"  That  is  right ! — I  do  think  men  are  delightful," 
she  added,  smiling. 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  so,"  he  laughed. 

They  talked  on  brightly  about  a  thousand  things. 
She  touched  on  Paris,  and  pictures,  and  new  music, 
with  her  quick  chatter,  sounding  to  George  wonder- 
ful in  her  culture  and  facility.  And  at  last  he  said 
he  must  go. 

"  Not  until  you  have  eaten  a  biscuit,  and  drunk 
good  luck  with  me,"  she  cried,  catching  her  dress 
about  her  like  a  dim  flame  and  running  out  of  the 
room.  We  all  drank  to  the  New  Year  in  the  cold 
champagne. 

"  To  the  Vita  Nuova!  "  said  Lettie,  and  we  drank 
smiling : 

"  Hark !  "  said  George,  "  the  hooters." 

We  stood  still  and  listened.  There  was  a  faint 
booing  noise  far  away  outside.  It  was  midnight. 
Lettie  caught  up  a  wrap  and  we  went  to  the  door. 
The  wood,  the  ice,  the  grey  dim  hills  lay  frozen  in 
the  light  of  the  moon.  But  outside  the  valley,  far 
away  in  Derbyshire,  away  towards  Nottingham,  on 


PUFFS    OF    WIND    IN    SAIL    391 

every  hand  the  distant  hooters  and  buzzers  of  mines 
and  ironworks  crowed  small  on  the  borders  of  the 
night,  like  so  many  strange,  low  voices  of  cockerels 
bursting  forth  at  different  pitch,  with  different  tone, 
warning  us  of  the  dawn  of  the  New  Year. 


CHAPTER   III 

THE    FIRST    PAGES    OF    SEVERAL    ROMANCES 

I  found  a  good  deal  of  difference  in  Leslie  since  his 
marriage.  He  had  lost  his  assertive  self-confidence. 
He  no  longer  pronounced  emphatically  and  ulti- 
mately on  every  subject,  nor  did  he  seek  to  dominate, 
as  he  had  always  done,  the  company  in  which  he 
found  himself.  I  was  surprised  to  see  him  so 
courteous  and  attentive  to  George.  He  moved  un- 
obtrusively about  the  room  while  Lettie  was  chatter- 
ing, and  in  his  demeanour  there  was  a  new  reserve, 
a  gentleness  and  grace.  It  was  charming  to  see  him 
offering  the  cigarettes  to  George,  or,  with  beautiful 
tact,  asking  with  his  eyes  only  whether  he  should  re- 
fill the  glass  of  his  guest,  and  afterward  replacing  it 
softly  close  to  the  other's  hand. 

To  Lettie  he  was  unfailingly  attentive,  courteous, 
and  undemonstrative. 

Towards  the  end  of  my  holiday  he  had  to  go  to 
London  on  business,  and  we  agreed  to  take  the  jour- 
ney together.  We  must  leave  Woodside  soon  after 
eight  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Lettie  and  he  had 
separate  rooms.  I  thought  she  would  not  have  risen 
to  take  breakfast  with  us,  but  at  a  quarter-past  seven, 
just  as  Rebecca  was  bringing  in  the  coffee,  she  came 
downstairs.  She  wore  a  blue  morning  gown,  and 
her  hair  was  as  beautifully  dressed  as  usual. 

392 


SEVERAL   ROMANCES        S93 

"  Why,  my  darling,  you  shouldn't  have  troubled  to 
come  down  so  early,"  said  Leslie,  as  he  kissed  her. 

"  Of  course,  I  should  come  down,"  she  replied, 
lifting  back  the  heavy  curtains  and  looking  out  on 
the  snow  where  the  darkness  was  wilting  into  day- 
light. "  I  should  not  let  you  go  away  into  the  cold 
without  having  seen  you  take  a  good  breakfast.  I 
think  it  is  thawing.  The  snow  on  the  rhododendrons 
looks  sodden  and  drooping.  Ah,  well,  we  can  keep 
out  the  dismal  of  the  morning  for  another  hour." 
She  glanced  at  the  clock — "just  an  hour!"  she 
added.  He  turned  to  her  with  a  swift  tenderness. 
She  smiled  to  him,  and  sat  down  at  the  coffee-maker. 
We  took  our  places  at  table. 

"  I  think  I  shall  come  back  to-night,"  he  said 
quietly,  almost  appealingly. 

She  watched  the  flow  of  the  coffee  before  she  an- 
swered. Then  the  brass  urn  swung  back,  and  she 
lifted  her  face  to  hand  him  the  cup. 

"  You  will  not  do  anything  so  foolish,  Leslie," 
she  said  calmly. 

He  took  his  cup,  thanking  her,  and  bent  his  face 
over  the  fragrant  steam. 

"  I  can  easily  catch  the  7:15  from  St.  Pancras," 
he  replied,  without  looking  up. 

"  Have  I  sweetened  to  your  liking  Cyril  ? "  she 
asked,  and  then,  as  she  stirred  her  coffee  she  added, 
"It  is  ridiculous  Leslie!  You  catch  the  7.15  and 
very  probably  miss  the  connection  at  Nottingham. 
You  can't  have  the  motor-car  there,  because  of  the 
roads.  Besides,  it  is  absurd  to  come  toiling  home 
in  the  cold  slushy  night  when  you  may  just  as  well 
stay  in  London  and  be  comfortable." 


394      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  At  any  rate  I  should  get  the  10.30  down  to  Law- 
ton  Hill,"  he  urged. 

"  But  there  is  no  need,"  she  replied,  "  there  is  not 
the  faintest  need  for  you  to  come  home  to-night.  It 
is  really  absurd  of  you.  Think  of  all  the  discomfort ! 
Indeed  I  should  not  want  to  come  trailing  dismally 
home  at  midnight,  I  should  not  indeed.  You  would 
be  simply  wretched.  Stay  and  have  a  jolly  evening 
with  Cyril." 

He  kept  his  head  bent  over  his  plate  and 
did  not  reply.  His  persistence  irritated  her 
slightly. 

"  That  is  what  you  can  do !  "  she  said.  "  Go  to 
the  pantomime.  Or  wait — go  to  Maeterlinck's  *  Blue 
Bird/  I  am  sure  that  is  on  somewhere.  I  wonder  if 
Rebecca  has  destroyed  yesterday's  paper.  Do  you 
mind  touching  the  bell,  Cyril  ?  "  Rebecca  came,  and 
the  paper  was  discovered.  Lettie  carefully  read  the 
notices,  and  planned  for  us  with  zest  a  delightful 
programme  for  the  evening.  Leslie  listened  to  it  all 
in  silence. 

When  the  time  had  come  for  our  departure  Lettie 
came  with  us  into  the  hall  to  see  that  we  were  well 
wrapped  up.  Leslie  had  spoken  very  few  words. 
She  was  conscious  that  he  was  deeply  offended,  but 
her  manner  was  quite  calm,  and  she  petted  us  both 
brightly. 

"  Good-bye  dear !  "  she  said  to  him,  when  he  came 
mutely  to  kiss  her.  "  You  know  it  would  have  been 
miserable  for  you  to  sit  all  those  hours  in  the  train 
at  night.  You  will  have  ever  such  a  jolly  time.  I 
know  you  will.  I  shall  look  for  you  to-morrow. 
Good-bye,  then,  Good-bye !  " 


SEVERAL   ROMANCES        395 

He  went  down  the  steps  and  into  the  car  with- 
out looking  at  her.  She  waited  in  the  doorway  as 
we  moved  round.  In  the  black-grey  morning  she 
seemed  to  harbour  the  glittering  blue  sky  and  the 
sunshine  of  March  in  her  dress  and  her  luxuriant 
hair.  He  did  not  look  at  her  till  we  were  curving  to 
the  great,  snow-cumbered  rhododendrons,  when,  at 
the  last  moment  he  stood  up  in  a  sudden  panic  to 
wave  to  her.  Almost  as  he  saw  her  the  bushes  came 
between  them  and  he  dropped  dejectedly  into  his 
seat. 

"  Good-bye !  "  we  heard  her  call  cheerfully  and 
tenderly  like  a  blackbird. 

"  Good-bye !  "  I  answered,  and :  "  Good-bye  Dar- 
ling, Good-bye !  "  he  cried,  suddenly  starting  up  in 
a  passion  of  forgiveness  and  tenderness. 

The  car  went  cautiously  down  the  soddened  white 
path,  under  the  trees. 

I  suffered  acutely  the  sickness  of  exile  in  Nor- 
wood. For  weeks  I  wandered  the  streets  of  the 
suburb,  haunted  by  the  spirit  of  some  part  of  Neth- 
ermere.  As  I  went  along  the  quiet  roads  where  the 
lamps  in  yellow  loneliness  stood  among  the  leafless 
trees  of  the  night  I  would  feel  the  feeling  of  the 
dark,  wet  bit  of  path  between  the  wood  meadow  and 
the  brooks.  The  spirit  of  that  wild  little  slope  to  the 
Mill  would  come  upon  me,  and  there  in  the  suburb 
of  London  I  would  walk  wrapt  in  the  sense  of  a 
small  wet  place  in  the  valley  of  Nethermere.  A 
strange  voice  within  me  rose  and  called  for  the  hill 
path;  again  I  could  feel  the  wood  waiting  for  me, 
calling  and  calling,  and  I  crying  for  the  wood,  yet 
the  space  of  many  miles  was  between  us.     Since  I 


396      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

left  the  valley  of  home  I  have  not  much  feared  any- 
other  loss.  The  hills  of  Nethermere  had  been  my 
walls,  and  the  sky  of  Nethermere  my  roof  overhead. 
It  seemed  almost  as  if,  at  home,  I  might  lift  my 
hand  to  the  ceiling  of  the  valley,  and  touch  my  own 
beloved  sky,  whose  familiar  clouds  came  again  and 
again  to  visit  me,  whose  stars  were  constant  to  me, 
born  when  I  was  born,  whose  sun  had  been  all  my 
father  to  me.  But  now  the  skies  were  strange  over 
my  head,  and  Orion  walked  past  me  unnoticing,  he 
who  night  after  night  had  stood  over  the  woods  to 
spend  with  me  a  wonderful  hour.  When  does  day 
now  lift  up  the  confines  of  my  dwelling  place,  when 
does  the  night  throw  open  her  vastness  for  me,  and 
send  me  the  stars  for  company  ?  There  is  no  night 
in  a  city.  How  can  I  lose  myself  in  the  magnificent 
forest  of  darkness  when  night  is  only  a  thin  scatter- 
ing of  the  trees  of  shadow  with  barrenness  of  lights 
between ! 

I  could  never  lift  my  eyes  save  to  the  Crystal 
Palace,  crouching,  cowering  wretchedly  among  the 
yellow-grey  clouds,  pricking  up  its  two  round  towers 
like  pillars  of  anxious  misery.  No  landmark  could 
have  been  more  foreign  to  me,  more  depressing,  than 
the  great  dilapidated  palace  which  lay  forever  pros- 
trate above  us,  fretting  because  of  its  own  degrada- 
tion and  ruin. 

I  watched  the  buds  coming  on  the  brown  almond 
trees ;  I  heard  the  blackbirds,  and  I  saw  the  restless 
starlings ;  in  the  streets  were  many  heaps  of  violets, 
and  men  held  forward  to  me  snowdrops  whose  white 
mute  lips  were  pushed  upwards  in  a  bunch :  but  these 
things  had  no  meaning  for  me,  and  little  interest. 


SEVERAL   ROMANCES         397 

Most  eagerly  I  waited  for  my  letters.  Emily  wrote 
to  me  very  constantly: 

"  Don't  you  find  it  quite  exhilarating,  almost  in- 
toxicating, to  be  so  free  ?  I  think  it  is  quite  wonder- 
ful. At  home  you  cannot  live  your  own  life.  You 
have  to  struggle  to  keep  even  a  little  apart  for  your- 
self. It  is  so  hard  to  stand  aloof  from  our  mothers, 
and  yet  they  are  only  hurt  and  insulted  if  you  tell 
them  what  is  in  your  heart.  It  is  such  a  relief  not 
to  have  to  be  anything  to  anybody,  but  just  to  please 
yourself.  I  am  sure  mother  and  I  have  suffered  a 
great  deal  from  trying  to  keep  up  our  old  relations. 
Yet  she  would  not  let  me  go.  When  I  come  home 
in  the  evening  and  think  that  I  needn't  say  anything 
to  anybody,  nor  do  anything  for  anybody,  but  just 
have  the  evening  for  myself,  I  am  overjoyed. 

"  I  have  begun  to  write  a  story " 

Again,  a  little  later,  she  wrote : 

"  As  I  go  to  school  by  Old  Brayford  village  in  the 
morning  the  birds  are  thrilling  wonderfully  and 
everything  seems  stirring.  Very  likely  there  will  be 
a  set-back,  and  after  that  spring  will  come  in  truth. 

"  When  shall  you  come  and  see  me  ?  I  cannot 
think  of  a  spring  without  you.  The  railways  are  the 
only  fine  exciting  things  here — one  is  only  a  few 
yards  away  from  school.  All  day  long  I  am  watch- 
ing the  great  Midland  trains  go  south.  They  are 
very  lucky  to  be  able  to  rush  southward  through  the 
sunshine. 

"  The  crows  are  very  interesting.  They  flap  past 
all  the  time  we're  out  in  the  yard.  The  railways  and 
the  crows  make  the  charm  of  my  life  in  Brayford. 
The  other  day  I  saw  no  end  of  pairs  of  crows.     Do 


398      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

you  remember  what  they  say  at  home  ? — '  One  for 
sorrow.'  Very  often  one  solitary  creature  sits  on  the 
telegraph  wires.  I  almost  hate  him  when  I  look  at 
him.  I  think  my  badge  for  life  ought  to  be — one 
crow ." 

Again,  a  little  later: 

"  I  have  been  home  for  the  week-end.  Isn't  it 
nice  to  be  made  much  of,  to  be  an  important  cher- 
ished person  for  a  little  time  ?  It  is  quite  a  new  ex- 
perience for  me. 

"  The  snowdrops  are  full  out  among  the  grass  in 
the  front  garden — and  such  a  lot.  I  imagined  you 
must  come  in  the  sunshine  of  the  Sunday  afternoon 
to  see  them.  It  did  not  seem  possible  you  should  not. 
The  winter  aconites  are  out  along  the  hedge.  I  knelt 
and  kissed  them.  I  have  been  so  glad  to  go  away,  to 
breathe  the  free  air  of  life,  but  I  felt  as  if  I  could 
not  come  away  from  the  aconites.  I  have  sent  you 
some — are  they  much  withered  ? 

"  Now  I  am  in  my  lodgings,  I  have  the  quite  un- 
usual feeling  of  being  contented  to  stay  here  a  little 
while — not  long — not  above  a  year,  I  am  sure.  But 
even  to  be  contented  for  a  little  while  is  enough  for 
me ." 

In  the  beginning  of  March  I  had  a  letter  from  the 
father : 

"  You'll  not  see  us  again  in  the  old  place.  We 
shall  be  gone  in  a  fortnight.  The  things  are  most  of 
them  gone  already.  George  has  got  Bob  and  Flower. 
I  have  sold  three  of  the  cows,  Stafford,  and  Julia 
and  Hannah.  The  place  looks  very  empty.  I  don't 
like  going  past  the  cowsheds,  and  we  miss  hearing 
the  horses  stamp  at  night.    But  I  shall  not  be  sorry 


SEVERAL    ROMANCES         399 

when  we  have  really  gone.  I  begin  to  feel  as  if  we'd 
stagnated  here.  I  begin  to  feel  as  if  I  was  settling 
and  getting  narrow  and  dull.  It  will  be  a  new  lease 
of  life  to  get  away. 

"  But  I'm  wondering  how  we  shall  be  over  there. 
Mrs.  Saxton  feels  very  nervous  about  going.  But  at 
the  worst  we  can  but  come  back.  I  feel  as  if  I  must 
go  somewhere,  it's  stagnation  and  starvation  for  us 
here.  I  wish  George  would  come  with  me.  I  never 
thought  he  would  have  taken  to  public-house  keep- 
ing, but  he  seems  to  like  it  all  right.  He  was  down 
with  Meg  on  Sunday.  Mrs.  Saxton  says  he's  getting 
a  public-house  tone.  He  is  certainly  much  livelier, 
more  full  of  talk  than  he  was.  Meg  and  he  seem 
very  comfortable,  I'm  glad  to  say.  He's  got  a  good 
milk-round,  and  I've  no  doubt  but  what  he'll  do  well. 
He  is  very  cautious  at  the  bottom;  he'll  never  lose 
much  if  he  never  makes  much. 

"  Sam  and  David  are  very  great  friends.  I'm  glad 
I've  got  the  boy.  We  often  talk  of  you.  It  would  be 
very  lonely  if  it  wasn't  for  the  excitement  of  selling 
things  and  so  on.  Mrs.  Saxton  hopes  you  will  stick 
by  George.  She  worries  a  bit  about  him,  thinking 
he  may  go  wrong.  I  don't  think  he  will  ever  go  far. 
But  I  should  be  glad  to  know  you  were  keeping 
friends.  Mrs.  Saxton  says  she  will  write  to  you 
about  it ." 

George  was  a  very  poor  correspondent.  I  soon 
ceased  to  expect  a  letter  from  him.  I  received  one 
directly  after  the  Father's. 

"  My  Dear  Cyril, 

"  Forgive  me  for  not  having  written  you  before, 
but  you  see,  I  cannot  sit  down  and  write  to  you  any 


400      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

time.  If  I  cannot  do  it  just  when  I  am  in  the  mood, 
I  cannot  do  it  at  all.  And  it  so  often  happens  that 
the  mood  comes  upon  me  when  I  am  in  the  fields  at 
work,  when  it  is  impossible  to  write.  Last  night  I 
sat  by  myself  in  the  kitchen  on  purpose  to  write  to 
you,  and  then  I  could  not.  All  day,  at  Greymede, 
when  I  was  drilling  in  the  fallow  at  the  back  of  the 
church,  I  had  been  thinking  of  you,  and  I  could  have 
written  there  if  I  had  had  materials,  but  I  had  not, 
and  at  night  I  could  not. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  in  my  last  letter  I  did  not 
thank  you  for  the  books.  I  have  not  read  them  both, 
but  I  have  nearly  finished  Evelyn  Innes.  I  get  a  bit 
tired  of  it  towards  the  end.  I  do  not  do  much  read- 
ing now.  There  seems  to  be  hardly  any  chance  for 
me,  either  somebody  is  crying  for  me  in  the  smoke 
room,  or  there  is  some  business,  or  else  Meg  won't  let 
me.  She  doesn't  like  me  to  read  at  night,  she  says  I 
ought  to  talk  to  her,  so  I  have  to. 

"  It  is  half-past  seven,  and  I  am  sitting  ready 
dressed  to  go  and  talk  to  Harry  Jackson  about  a 
young  horse  he  wants  to  sell  me.  He  is  in  pretty  low 
water,  and  it  will  make  a  pretty  good  horse.  But  I 
don't  care  much  whether  I  have  it  or  not.  The  mood 
seized  me  to  write  to  you.  Somehow  at  the  bottom 
I  feel  miserable  and  heavy,  yet  there  is  no  need.  I 
am  making  pretty  good  money,  and  I've  got  all  I 
want.  But  when  I've  been  ploughing  and  getting  the 
oats  in  those  fields  on  the  hillside  at  the  back  of 
Greymede  church,  I've  felt  as  if  I  didn't  care  whether 
I  got  on  or  not.  It's  very  funny.  Last  week  I  made 
over  five  pounds  clear,  one  way  and  another,  and  yet 
now  I'm  as  restless,  and  discontented  as  I  can  be,  and 


SEVERAL   ROMANCES         401 

I  seem  eager  for  something,  but  I  don't  know  what  it 
is.  Sometimes  I  wonder  where  I  am  going.  Yes- 
terday I  watched  broken  white  masses  of  cloud  sail- 
ing across  the  sky  in  a  fresh  strong  wind.  They  all 
seemed  to  be  going  somewhere.  I  wondered  where 
the  wind  was  blowing  them.  I  don't  seem  to  have 
hold  on  anything,  do  I?  Can  you  tell  me  what  I 
want  at  the  bottom  of  my  heart?  I  wish  you  were 
here,  then  I  think  I  should  not  feel  like  this.  But 
generally  I  don't,  generally  I  am  quite  jolly,  and 
busy. 

"  By  jove,  here's  Harry  Jackson  come  for  me.  I 
will  finish  this  letter  when  I  get  back. 

" 1  have  got  back,  we  have  turned  out,  but  I 

cannot  finish.  I  cannot  tell  you  all  about  it.  I've 
had  a  little  row  with  Meg.  Oh,  I've  had  a  rotten 
time.  But  I  cannot  tell  you  about  it  to-night,  it  is 
late,  and  I  am  tired,  and  have  a  headache.  Some 
other  time  perhaps George  Saxton." 

The  spring  came  bravely,  even  in  south  London, 
and  the  town  was  filled  with  magic.  I  never  knew 
the  sumptuous  purple  of  evening  till  I  saw  the  round 
arc-lamps  fill  with  light,  and  roll  like  golden  bubbles 
along  the  purple  dusk  of  the  high  road.  Everywhere 
at  night  the  city  is  filled  with  the  magic  of  lamps: 
over  the  river  they  pour  in  golden  patches  their  float- 
ing luminous  oil  on  the  restless  darkness ;  the  bright 
lamps  float  in  and  out  of  the  cavern  of  London 
Bridge  Station  like  round  shining  bees  in  and  out  of 
a  black  hive ;  in  the  suburbs  the  street  lamps  glimmer 
with  the  brightness  of  lemons  among  the  trees.  I 
began  to  love  the  town. 


402       THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

In  the  mornings  I  loved  to  move  in  the  aimless 
street's  procession,  watching  the  faces  come  near  to 
me,  with  the  sudden  glance  of  dark  eyes,  watching 
the  mouths  of  the  women  blossom  with  talk  as  they 
passed,  watching  the  subtle  movements  of  the  shoul- 
ders of  men  beneath  their  coats,  and  the  naked 
warmth  of  their  necks  that  went  glowing  along  the 
street.  I  loved  the  city  intensely  for  its  movement 
of  men  and  women,  the  soft,  fascinating  flow  of  the 
limbs  of  men  and  women,  and  the  sudden  flash  of 
eyes  and  lips  as  they  pass.  Among  all  the  faces  of 
the  street  my  attention  roved  like  a  bee  which  clam- 
bers drunkenly  among  blue  flowers.  I  became  in- 
toxicated with  the  strange  nectar  which  I  sipped  out 
of  the  eyes  of  the  passers-by. 

I  did  not  know  how  time  was  hastening  by  on  still 
bright  wings,  till  I  saw  the  scarlet  hawthorn  flaunt- 
ing over  the  road,  and  the  lime-buds  lit  up  like  wine 
drops  in  the  sun,  and  the  pink  scarves  of  the  lime- 
buds  pretty  as  louse-wort  a-blossom  in  the  gutters, 
and  a  silver-pink  tangle  of  almond  boughs  against 
the  blue  sky.  The  lilacs  came  out,  and  in  the  pen- 
sive stillness  of  the  suburb,  at  night,  came  the  deli- 
cious tarry  scent  of  lilac  flowers,  wakening  a  silent 
laughter  of  romance. 

Across  all  this,  strangely,  came  the  bleak  sounds 
of  home.    Alice  wrote  to  me  at  the  end  of  May : 

"  Cyril  dear,  prepare  yourself.  Meg  has  got  twins 
— yesterday.  I  went  up  to  see  how  she  was  this 
afternoon,  not  knowing  anything,  and  there  I  found 
a  pair  of  bubs  in  the  nest,  and  old  ma  Stainwright 
bossing  the  show.  I  nearly  fainted.  Sybil  dear,  I 
hardly  knew  whether  to  laugh  or  to  cry  when  I  saw 


SEVERAL   ROMANCES         403 

those  two  rummy  little  round  heads,  like  two  larch 
cones  cheek  by  cheek  on  a  twig.  One  is  a  darkie, 
with  lots  of  black  hair,  and  the  other  is  red,  would 
you  believe  it,  just  lit  up  with  thin  red  hair  like  a 
flicker  of  firelight  I  gasped.  I  believe  I  did  shed 
a  few  tears,  though  what  for,  I  don't  know. 

"  The  old  grandma  is  a  perfect  old  wretch  over  it. 
She  lies  chuckling  and  passing  audible  remarks  in 
the  next  room,  as  pleased  as  punch  really,  but  so  mad 
because  ma  Stainwright  wouldn't  have  them  taken  in 
to  her.  You  should  have  heard  her  when  we  took 
them  in  at  last.  They  are  both  boys.  She  did  make 
a  fuss,  poor  old  woman.  I  think  she's  going  a  bit 
funny  in  the  head.  She  seemed  sometimes  to  think 
they  were  hers,  and  you  should  have  heard  her,  the 
way  she  talked  to  them,  it  made  me  feel  quite  funny. 
She  wanted  them  lying  against  her  on  the  pillow,  so 
that  she  could  feel  them  with  her  face.  I  shed  a  few 
more  tears,  Sybil.  I  think  I  must  be  going  dotty 
also.  But  she  came  round  when  we  took  them  away, 
and  began  to  chuckle  to  herself,  and  talk  about 
the  things  she'd  say  to  George  when  he  came — 
awful  shocking  things,  Sybil,  made  me  blush  dread- 
fully. 

"  Georgie  didn't  know  about  it  then.  He  was 
down  at  Bingham,  buying  some  horses,  I  believe. 
He  seems  to  have  got  a  craze  for  buying  horses.  He 
got  in  with  Harry  Jackson  and  Mayhew's  sons — you 
know,  they  were  horse  dealers — at  least  their  father 
was.  You  remember  he  died  bankrupt  about  three 
years  ago.  There  are  Fred  and  Duncan  left,  and 
they  pretend  to  keep  on  the  old  business.  They  are 
always  up  at  the  Kam,  and  Georgie  is  always  driv- 


404       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

ing  about  with  them.  I  don't  like  it — they  are  a 
loose  lot,  rather  common,  and  poor  enough  now. 

"  Well,  I  thought  I'd  wait  and  see  Georgie.  He 
came  about  half-past  five.  Meg  had  been  fidgeting 
about  him,  wondering  where  he  was,  and  how  he  was, 
and  so  on.  Bless  me  if  I'd  worry  and  whittle  about 
a  man.  The  old  grandma  heard  the  cart,  and  before 
he  could  get  down  she  shouted — you  know  her  room 
is  in  the  front — c  Hi',  George,  ma  lad,  sharpen  thy 
shins  an'  com'  an'  a'e  a  look  at  'em — theeVs  two  on 
'em,  two  on  'em ! '  and  she  laughed  something  awful. 

"  i  'Ello  Granma,  what  art  ter  shoutin'  about  I ' 
he  said,  and  at  the  sound  of  his  voice  Meg  turned  to 
me  so  pitiful,  and  said : 

"  *  He's  been  wi'  them  Mayhews.' 

" l  Tha's  gotten  twins,  a  couple  at  a  go  ma  lad ! ' 
shouted  the  old  woman,  and  you  know  how  she  gives 
squeal  before  she  laughs !  She  made  the  horse  shy, 
and  he  swore  at  it  something  awful.  Then  Bill  took 
it,  and  Georgie  came  upstairs.  I  saw  Meg  seem  to 
shrink  when  she  heard  him  kick  at  the  stairs  as  he 
came  up,  and  she  went  white.  When  he  got  to  the 
top  he  came  in.  He  fairly  reeked  of  whisky  and 
horses.  Bah,  a  man  is  hateful  when  he  reeks  of 
drink !  He  stood  by  the  side  of  the  bed  grinning  like 
a  fool,  and  saying,  quite  thick  i 

11 '  You've  bin  in  a  bit  of  a  'urry,  'aven't  you  Meg. 
An'  how  are  ter  f eelin'  then  ? ' 

"  '  Oh,  I'm  a'  right/  said  Meg. 

"  '  Is  it  twins,  straight  ? '  he  said,  *  wheer  is  'em  ? ' 

"  Meg  looked  over  at  the  cradle,  and  he  went  round 
the  bed  to  it,  holding  to  the  bed-rail.  He  had  never 
kissed  her,  nor  anything.     When  he  saw  the  twins, 


SEVERAL   ROMANCES         405 

asleep  with  their  fists  shut  tight  as  wax,  he  gave  a 
laugh  as  if  he  was  amused,  and  said: 

"  '  Two  right  enough — an'  one  on  'em  red !  Which 
is  the  girl,  Meg,  the  black  un  ? ' 

"  '  They're  both  boys/  said  Meg,  quite  timidly. 

"  He  turned  round,  and  his  eyes  went  little. 

"  '  Blast  'em  then ! '  he  said.  He  stood  there  look- 
ing like  a  devil.  Sybil  dear,  I  did  not  know  our 
George  could  look  like  that.  I  thought  he  could  only 
look  like  a  faithful  dog  or  a  wounded  stag.  But  he 
looked  fiendish.  He  stood  watching  the  poor  little 
twins,  scowling  at  them,  till  at  last  the  little  red  one 
began  to  whine  a  bit.  Ma  Stainwright  came  push- 
ing her  fat  carcass  in  front  of  him  and  bent  over  the 
baby,  saying: 

" '  Why,  my  pretty,  what  are  they  doin'  to  thee, 
what  are  they  ? — what  are  they  doin'  to  thee  ? ' 

"  Georgie  scowled  blacker  than  ever,  and  went  out, 
lurching  against  the  wash-stand  and  making  the  pots 
rattle  till  my  heart  jumped  in  my  throat. 

"  '  Well,   if  you  don't  call  that  scandylos ! ' 

said  old  Ma  Stainwright,  and  Meg  began  to  cry.  You 
don't  know,  Cyril !  She  sobbed  fit  to  break  her  heart. 
I  felt  as  if  I  could  have  killed  him. 

"  That  old  gran'ma  began  talking  to  him,  and  he 
laughed  at  her.  I  do  hate  to  hear  a  man  laugh  when 
he's  half  drunk.  It  makes  my  blood  boil  all  of  a 
sudden.  That  old  grandmother  backs  him  up  in 
everything,  she's  a  regular  nuisance.  Meg  has  cried 
to  me  before  over  the  pair  of  them.  The  wicked,  vul- 
gar old  thing  that  she  is " 

I  went  home  to  Woodside  early  in  September. 
Emily  was  staying  at  the  Ram.     It  was  strange  that 


406      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

everything  was  so  different.  Eethermere  even  had 
changed.  Eethermere  was  no  longer  a  complete, 
wonderful  little  world  that  held  us  charmed  inhabi- 
tants. It  was  a  small,  insignificant  valley  lost  in  the 
spaces  of  the  earth.  The  tree  that  had  drooped  over 
the  brook  with  such  delightful,  romantic  grace  was 
a  ridiculous  thing  when  I  came  home  after  a  year  of 
absence  in  the  south.  The  old  symbols  were  trite 
and  foolish. 

Emily  and  I  went  down  one  morning  to  Strelley 
Mill.  The  house  was  occupied  by  a  labourer  and  his 
wife,  strangers  from  the  north.  He  was  tall,  very 
thin,  and  silent,  strangely  suggesting  kinship  with 
the  rats  of  the  place.  She  was  small  and  very  active, 
like  some  ragged  domestic  fowl  run  wild.  Already 
Emily  had  visited  her,  so  she  invited  us  into  the 
kitchen  of  the  mill,  and  set  forward  the  chairs  for 
us.  The  large  room  had  the  barren  air  of  a  cell. 
There  was  a  small  table  stranded  towards  the  fire- 
place, and  a  few  chairs  by  the  walls;  for  the  rest, 
desert  spaces  of  flagged  floor  retreating  into  shadow. 
On  the  walls  by  the  windows  were  ^Lve  cages  of  cana- 
ries, and  the  small  sharp  movements  of  the  birds 
made  the  room  more  strange  in  its  desolation.  When 
we  began  to  talk  the  birds  began  to  sing,  till  we  were 
quite  bewildered,  for  the  little  woman  spoke  Glasgow 
Scotch,  and  she  had  a  hare  lip.  She  rose  and  ran 
toward  the  cages,  crying  herself  like  some  wild  fowl, 
and  flapping  a  duster  at  the  warbling  canaries. 

"  Stop  it,  stop  it !  "  she  cried,  shaking  her  thin 
weird  body  at  them.  "  Silly  little  devils,  fools,  fools, 
fools ! !  "  and  she  flapped  the  duster  till  the  birds 
were  subdued.     Then  she  brought  us  delicious  scones 


SEVERAL   ROMANCES        407 

and  apple  jelly,  urging  us,  almost  nudging  us  with 
her  thin  elbows  to  make  us  eat. 

"  Don't  you  like  'em,  don't  you  ?  Well  eat  'em, 
eat  'em  then.  Go  on  Emily,  go  on,  eat  some  more. 
Only  don't  tell  Tom — don't  tell  Tom  when  'e  comes 
in," — she  shook  her  head  and  laughed  her  shrilling, 
weird  laughter. 

As  we  were  going  she  came  out  with  us,  and  went 
running  on  in  front.  We  could  not  help  noting  how 
ragged  and  unkempt  was  her  short  black  skirt.  But 
she  hastened  around  us,  hither  and  thither  like  an 
excited  fowl,  talking  in  her  high-pitched,  unintelligi- 
ble manner.  I  could  not  believe  the  brooding  mill 
was  in  her  charge.  I  could  not  think  this  was  the 
Strelley  Mill  of  a  year  ago.  She  fluttered  up  the 
steep  orchard  bank  in  front  of  us.  Happening  to 
turn  round  and  see  Emily  and  me  smiling  at  each 
other  she  began  to  laugh  her  strident,  weird  laughter 
saying,  with  a  leer : 

"  Emily,  he's  your  sweetheart,  your  sweetheart 
Emily !  You  never  told  me ! "  and  she  laughed 
aloud. 

We  blushed  furiously.  She  came  away  from  the 
edge  of  the  sluice  gully,  nearer  to  us,  crying : 

"  You've  been  here  o'  nights,  haven't  you  Emily — 
haven't  you  ?  "  and  she  laughed  again.  Then  she  sat 
down  suddenly,  and  pointing  above  our  heads, 
shrieked : 

"  Ah,  look  there !  " — we  looked  and  saw  the  mis- 
tletoe. "  Look  at  her,  look  at  her !  How  many  kisses 
a  night,  Emily? — Ha!  Ha!  kisses  all  the  year! 
Kisses  o'  nights  in  a  lonely  place." 

She  went  on  wildly  for  a  short  time,  then  she 


408      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

dropped  her  voice  and  talked  in  low,  pathetic  tones. 
She  pressed  on  us  scones  and  jelly  and  oat-cakes,  and 
we  left  her. 

When  we  were  out  on  the  road  by  the  brook  Emily 
looked  at  me  with  shamefaced,  laughing  eyes.  I  no- 
ticed a  small  movement  of  her  lips,  and  in  an  instant 
I  found  myself  kissing  her,  laughing  with  some  of 
the  little  woman's  wildness. 


CHAPTEK   IV 

DOMESTIC    LIFE   AT   THE    BAM 

George  was  very  anxious  to  receive  me  at  his  home. 
The  Earn  had  as  yet  only  a  six  days  licence,  so  on 
Sunday  afternoon  I  walked  over  to  tea.  It  was  very 
warm  and  still  and  sunny  as  I  came  through  Grey- 
mede.  A  few  sweethearts  were  sauntering  under  the 
horse-chestnut  trees,  or  crossing  the  road  to  go  into 
the  fields  that  lay  smoothly  carpeted  after  the  hay- 
harvest. 

As  I  came  round  the  flagged  track  to  the  kitchen 
door  of  the  Inn  I  heard  the  slur  of  a  baking  tin  and 
the  bang  of  the  oven  door,  and  Meg,  saying  crossly: 

"  No,  don't  you  take  him  Emily — naughty  little 
thing !     Let  his  father  hold  him !  " 

One  of  the  babies  was  crying. 

I  entered,  and  found  Meg  all  flushed  and  untidy, 
wearing  a  large  white  apron,  just  rising  from  the 
oven.  Emily,  in  a  cream  dress,  was  taking  a  red- 
haired,  crying  baby  from  out  of  the  cradle.  George 
sat  in  the  small  arm-chair,  smoking  and  looking 
cross. 

"  I  can't  shake  hands,"  said  Meg,  rather  flurried. 

"  I  am  all  floury.     Sit  down,  will  you "  and  she 

hurried  out  of  the  room.  Emily  looked  up  from  the 
complaining  baby  to  me,  and  smiled  a  woman's  rare, 
intimate  smile,  which  says :  "  See,  I  am  engaged  thus 

409 


410      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

for  a  moment,  but  I  keep  my  heart  for  you  all  the 
time." 

George  rose  and  offered  me  the  round  arm-chair. 
It  was  the  highest  honour  he  could  do  me.  He  asked 
me  what  I  would  drink.  When  I  refused  every- 
thing, he  sat  down  heavily  on  the  sofa,  frowning,  and 
angrily  cudgelling  his  wits  for  something  to  say — 
in  vain. 

The  room  was  large  and  comfortably  furnished 
with  rush-chairs,  a  glass-knobbed  dresser,  a  cupboard 
with  glass  doors,  perched  on  a  shelf  in  the  corner, 
and  the  usual  large  sofa  whose  cosy  loose-bed  and 
pillows  were  covered  with  red  cotton  stuff.  There 
was  a  peculiar  reminiscence  of  victuals  and  drink 
in  the  room;  beer,  and  a  touch  of  spirits,  and  bacon. 
Teenie,  the  sullen,  black-browed  servant  girl  came 
in  carrying  the  other  baby,  and  Meg  called  from  the 
scullery  to  ask  her  if  the  child  were  asleep.  Meg 
was  evidently  in  a  bustle  and  a  flurry,  a  most  uncom- 
fortable state. 

"  No,"  replied  Teenie,  "  he's  not  for  sleep  this 
day." 

"  Mend  the  fire  and  see  to  the  oven,  and  then  put 
him  his  frock  on,"  replied  Meg,  testily.  Teenie  set 
the  black-haired  baby  in  the  second  cradle.  Imme- 
diately he  began  to  cry,  or  rather  to  shout  his  re- 
monstrance. George  went  across  to  him  and  picked 
up  a  white  furry  rabbit,  which  he  held  before  the 
child: 

"  Here,  look  at  bun-bun !  Have  your  nice  rab- 
bit !     Hark  at  it  squeaking !  " 

The  baby  listened  for  a  moment,  then,  deciding 
that  this  was  only  a  put-off,  began  to  cry  again. 


DOMESTIC   LIFE   AT   RAM   411 

George  threw  down  the  rabbit  and  took  the  baby, 
swearing  inwardly.  He  dandled  the  child  on  his 
knee. 

"What's  up  then?— What's  up  wi'  thee?  Have 
a  ride  then — dee-de-dee-de-dee !  " 

But  the  baby  knew  quite  well  what  was  the  father's 
feeling  towards  him,  and  he  continued  to  cry. 

"  Hurry  up,  Teenie ! "  said  George  as  the  maid 
rattled  the  coal  on  the  fire.  Emily  was  walking 
about  hushing  her  charge,  and  smiling  at  me,  so 
that  I  had  a  peculiar  pleasure  in  gathering  for  my- 
self the  honey  of  endearment  which  she  shed  on  the 
lips  of  the  baby.  George  handed  over  his  child  to 
the  maid,  and  said  to  me  with  patient  sarcasm: 

"  Will  you  come  in  the  garden  ?  " 

I  rose  and  followed  him,  across  the  sunny  flagged 
yard,  along  the  path  between  the  bushes.  He  lit  his 
pipe  and  sauntered  along  as  a  man  on  his  own  estate 
does,  feeling  as  if  he  were  untrammeled  by  laws  or 
conventions. 

"  You  know,"  he  said,  "  she's  a  dam  rotten  man- 
ager." 

I  laughed,  and  remarked  how  full  of  plums  the 
trees  were. 

"  Yes !  "  he  replied  heedlessly — "  you  know  she 
ought  to  have  sent  the  girl  out  with  the  kids  this 
afternoon,  and  have  got  dressed  directly.  But  no, 
she  must  sit  gossiping  with  Emily  all  the  time  they 
were  asleep,  and  then  as  soon  as  they  wake  up  she 
begins  to  make  cake " 

"  I  suppose  she  felt  she'd  enjoy  a  pleasant  chat,  all 
quiet,"  I  answered. 

"  But  she  knew  quite  well  you  were  coming,  and 


412      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

what  it  would  be.  But  a  woman's  no  dam  fore- 
sight." 

"  Nay,  what  does  it  matter !  "  said  I. 

"  Sunday's  the  only  day  we  can  have  a  bit  of 
peace,  so  she  might  keep  'em  quiet  then." 

"  I  suppose  it  was  the  only  time,  too,  that  she 
could  have  a  quiet  gossip,"  I  replied. 

"  But  you  don't  know,"  he  said,  "  there  seems  to 
be  never  a  minute  of  freedom.  Teenie  sleeps  in  now, 
and  lives  with  us  in  the  kitchen — Oswald  as  well — 
so  I  never  know  what  it  is  to  have  a  moment  private. 
There  doesn't  seem  a  single  spot  anywhere  where  I 
can  sit  quiet.  It's  the  kids  all  day,  and  the  kids  all 
night,  and  the  servants,  and  then  all  the  men  in  the 
house — I  sometimes  feel  as  if  I  should  like  to  get 
away.  I  shall  leave  the  pub  as  soon  as  I  can — only 
Meg  doesn't  want  to." 

"  But  if  you  leave  the  public-house — what  then  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  get  back  on  a  farm.  This  is 
no  sort  of  a  place,  really,  for  farming.  I've  always 
got  some  business  on  hand,  there's  a  traveller  to  see, 
or  I've  got  to  go  to  the  brewers,  or  I've  somebody  to 
look  at  a  horse,  or  something.  Your  life's  all 
messed  up.  If  I  had  a  place  of  my  own,  and  farmed 
it  in  peaces " 

"  You'd  be  as  miserable  as  you  could  be,"  I  said. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  he  assented,  in  his  old  reflective 
manner.  "  Perhaps  so !  Anyhow,  I  needn't  bother, 
for  I  feel  as  if  I  never  shall  go  back — to  the  land." 

"  Which  means  at  the  bottom  of  your  heart  you 
don't  intend  to,"  I  said  laughing. 

"  Perhaps  so !  "  he  again  yielded.  "  You  see  I'm 
'doing  pretty  well  here — apart  from  the  public-house : 


DOMESTIC    LIFE    AT    RAM   413 

I  always  think  that's  Meg's.  Come  and  look  in  the 
stable.  I've  got  a  shire  mare,  and  two  nags:  pretty 
good.  I  went  down  to  Melton  Mowbray  with  Tom 
Mayhew,  to  a  chap  they've  had  dealings  with. 
Tom's  all  right,  and  he  knows  how  to  buy,  but  he  is 
such  a  lazy  careless  devil,  too  lazy  to  be  bothered 
to  sell " 

George  was  evidently  interested.  As  we  went 
round  to  the  stables,  Emily  came  out  with  the  baby, 
which  was  dressed  in  a  new  silk  frock.  She  ad- 
vanced, smiling  to  me  with  dark  eyes : 

"  See,  now  he  is  good !     Doesn't  he  look  pretty  ?  " 

She  held  the  baby  for  me  to  look  at.  I  glanced  at 
it,  but  I  was  only  conscious  of  the  near  warmth  of 
her  cheek,  and  of  the  scent  of  her  hair. 

u  Who  is  he  like  ?  "  I  asked,  looking  up  and  find- 
ing myself  full  in  her  eyes.  The  question  was  quite 
irrelevant :  her  eyes  spoke  a  whole  clear  message  that 
made  my  heart  throb ;  yet  she  answered. 

"  Who  is  he  ?  Why,  nobody,  of  course !  But  he 
will  be  like  father,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

The  question  drew  my  eyes  to  hers  again,  and 
again  we  looked  each  other  the  strange  intelligence 
that  made  her  flush  and  me  breathe  in  as  I  smiled. 

"  Ay !  Blue  eyes  like  your  father's — not  like 
yours " 

Again  the  wild  messages  in  her  looks. 

"  No !  "  she  answered  very  softly.  "  And  I  think 
he'll  be  jolly,  like  father — they  have  neither  of  them 
our  eyes,  have  they  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  answered,  overcome  by  a  sudden  hot  flush 
of  tenderness.  "  No — not  vulnerable.  To  have  such 
soft,  vulnerable  eyes  as  you  used  makes  one  feel  nerv- 


414       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

ous  and  irascible.  But  you  have  clothed  over  the 
sensitiveness  of  yours,  haven't  you? — like  naked 
life,  naked  defenceless  protoplasm  they  were,  is  it 
not  so  ?  " 

She  laughed,  and  at  the  old  painful  memories  she 
dilated  in  the  old  way,  and  I  felt  the  old  tremor  at 
seeing  her  soul  flung  quivering  on  my  pity. 

"  And  were  mine  like  that  %  "  asked  George,  who 
had  come  up. 

He  must  have  perceived  the  bewilderment  of  my 
look  as  I  tried  to  adjust  myself  to  him.  A  slight 
shadow,  a  slight  chagrin  appeared  on  his  face. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "  yes — but  not  so  bad.  You 
never  gave  yourself  away  so  much — you  were  most 
cautious:  but  just  as  defenceless." 

"  And  am  I  altered  ?  "  he  asked,  with  quiet  irony, 
as  if  he  knew  I  was  not  interested  in  him. 

"  Yes,  more  cautious.  You  keep  in  the  shadow. 
But  Emily  has  clothed  herself^  and  can  now  walk 
among  the  crowd  at  her  own  gait." 

It  was  with  an  effort  I  refrained  from  putting  my 
lips  to  kiss  her  at  that  moment  as  she  looked  at  me 
with  womanly  dignity  and  tenderness.  Then  I  re- 
membered, and  said: 

"  But  you  are  taking  me  to  the  stable  George ! 
Come  and  see  the  horses  too,  Emily." 

"  I  will.  I  admire  them  so  much,"  she  replied, 
and  thus  we  both  indulged  him. 

He  talked  to  his  horses  and  of  them,  laying  his 
hand  upon  them,  running  over  their  limbs.  The 
glossy,  restless  animals  interested  him  more  than 
anything.  He  broke  into  a  little  flush  of  enthusiasm 
over  them.    They  were  his  new  interest.    They  were 


DOMESTIC    LIFE    AT    RAM   415 

quiet  and  yet  responsive;  he  was  their  master  and 
owner.     This  gave  him  real  pleasure. 

But  the  baby  became  displeased  again.  Emily 
looked  at  me  for  sympathy  with  him. 

"  He  is  a  little  wanderer/'  she  said,  "  he  likes 
to  be  always  moving.  Perhaps  he  objects  to  the 
ammonia  of  stables  too,"  she  added,  frowning 
and  laughing  slightly,  "  it  is  not  very  agreeable, 
is  it?" 

"  Not  particularly,"  I  agreed,  and  as  she  moved 
off  I  went  with  her,  leaving  him  in  the  stables. 
When  Emily  and  I  were  alone  we  sauntered  aim- 
lessly back  to  the  garden.  She  persisted  in  talking 
to  the  baby,  and  in  talking  to  me  about  the  baby,  till 
I  wished  the  child  in  Jericho.  This  made  her  laugh, 
and  she  continued  to  tantalise  me.  The  holly-hock 
flowers  of  the  second  whorl  were  flushing  to  the  top 
of  the  spires.  The  bees,  covered  with  pale  crumbs 
of  pollen,  were  swaying  a  moment  outside  the  wide 
gates  of  the  florets,  then  they  swung  in  with  excited 
hum,  and  clung  madly  to  the  fury  white  capitols, 
and  worked  riotously  round  the  waxy  bases.  Emily 
held  out  the  baby  to  watch,  talking  all  the  time  in 
low,  fond  tones.  The  child  stretched  towards  the 
bright  flowers.  The  sun  glistened  on  his  smooth 
hair  as  on  bronze  dust,  and  the  wondering  blue  eyes 
of  the  baby  followed  the  bees.  Then  he  made  small 
sounds,  and  suddenly  waved  his  hands,  like  rumpled 
pink  holly-hock  buds. 

"  Look !  "  said  Emily,  "  look  at  the  little  bees ! 
Ah,  but  you  mustn't  touch  them,  they  bite.  They're 
coming !  "  she  cried,  with  sudden  laughing  apprehen- 
sion, drawing  the  child  away.     He  made  noises  of 


416      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

remonstrance.  She  put  him  near  to  the  flowers 
again  till  he  knocked  the  spire  with  his  hand  and 
two  indignant  bees  came  sailing  out.  Emily  drew 
back  quickly  crying  in  alarm,  then  laughing  with 
excited  eyes  at  me,  as  if  she  had  just  escaped  a 
peril  in  my  presence.  Thus  she  teased  me  by  fling- 
ing me  all  kinds  of  bright  gages  of  love  while  she 
kept  me  aloof  because  of  the  child.  She  laughed 
with  pure  pleasure  at  this  state  of  affairs,  and  de- 
lighted the  more  when  I  frowned,  till  at  last  I  swal- 
lowed my  resentment  and  laughed  too,  playing  with 
the  hands  of  the  baby,  and  watching  his  blue  eyes 
change  slowly  like  a  softly  sailing  sky. 

Presently  Meg  called  us  in  to  tea.  She  wore  a 
dress  of  fine  blue  stuff  with  cream  silk  embroidery, 
and  she  looked  handsome,  for  her  hair  was  very 
hastily  dressed. 

"  What,  have  you  had  that  child  all  this  time  ? " 
she  exclaimed,  on  seeing  Emily.  "  Where  is  his 
father?" 

"  I  don't  know — we  left  him  in  the  stable,  didn't 
we  Cyril?  But  I  like  nursing  him,  Meg.  I  like  it 
ever  so  much,"  replied  Emily. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  may  be  sure  George  would  get  off 
it  if  he  could.  He's  always  in  the  stable.  As  I  tell 
him,  he  fair  stinks  of  horses.  He's  not  that  fond  of 
the  children,  I  can  tell  you.  Come  on,  my  pet — 
why,  come  to  its  mammy." 

She  took  the  baby  and  kissed  it  passionately,  and 
made  extravagant  love  to  it.  A  clean  shaven  young 
man  with  thick  bare  arms  went  across  the  yard. 

"  Here,  just  look  and  tell  George  as  tea  is  ready," 
said  Meg. 


DOMESTIC    LIFE    AT    RAM   417 

"  Where  is  he  ? "  asked  Oswald,  the  sturdy  youth 
who  attended  to  the  farm  business. 

"  You  know  where  to  find  him,"  replied  Meg,  with 
that  careless  freedom  which  was  so  subtly  derogatory 
to  her  husband. 

George  came  hurrying  from  the  out-building. 
"  What,  is  it  tea  already  ?  "  he  said. 

"  It's  a  wonder  you  haven't  been  crying  out  for 
it  this  last  hour,"  said  Meg. 

"  It's  a  marvel  you've  got  dressed  so  quick,"  he 
replied. 

"  Oh,  is  it  ?  "  she  answered — "  well,  it's  not  with 
any  of  your  help  that  I've  done  it,  that  is  a  fact. 
Where's  Teenie?" 

The  maid,  short,  stiffly  built,  very  dark  and  sullen 
looking,  came  forward  from  the  gate. 

"  Can  you  take  Alfy  as  well,  just  while  we  have 
tea  ? "  she  asked.  Teenie  replied  that  she  should 
think  she  could,  whereupon  she  was  given  the  ruddy- 
haired  baby,  as  well  as  the  dark  one.  She  sat  with 
them  on  a  seat  at  the  end  of  the  yard.  We  proceeded 
to  tea. 

It  was  a  very  great  spread.  There  were  hot  cakes, 
three  or  four  kinds  of  cold  cakes,  tinned  apricots, 
jellies,  tinned  lobster,  and  trifles  in  the  way  of  jam, 
cream,  and  rum. 

"  I  don't  know  what  those  cakes  are  like,"  said 
Meg.  "  I  made  them  in  such  a  fluster.  Really,  you 
have  to  do  things  as  best  you  can  when  you've  got 
children — especially  when  there's  two.  I  never  seem 
to  have  time  to  do  my  hair  up  even — look  at  it  now." 

She  put  up  her  hands  to  her  head,  and  I  could  not 
help  noticing  how  grimy  and  rough  were  her  nails. 


418      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

The  tea  was  going  on  pleasantly,  when  one  of  the 
babies  began  to  cry.  Teenie  bent  over  it  crooning 
gruffly.  I  leaned  back  and  looked  out  of  the  door  to 
watch  her.  I  thought  of  the  girl  in  TchekofFs  story, 
who  smothered  her  charge,  and  I  hoped  the  grim 
Teenie  would  not  be  driven  to  such  desperation. 
The  other  child  joined  in  this  chorus.  Teenie  rose 
from  her  seat  and  walked  about  the  yard,  gruffly  try- 
ing to  soothe  the  twins. 

"  It's  a  funny  thing,  but  whenever  anybody  comes 
they're  sure  to  be  cross,"  said  Meg,  beginning  to 
simmer. 

"  They're  no  different  from  ordinary,"  said 
George,  "  it's  only  that  you're  forced  to  notice  it 
then." 

"  No,  it  is  not !  "  cried  Meg  in  a  sudden  passion : 

"  Is  it  now,  Emily  ?  Of  course,  he  has  to  say 
something !  Weren't  they  as  good  as  gold  this  morn- 
ing, Emily  ? — and  yesterday ! — why  they  never  mur- 
mured, as  good  as  gold  they  were.  But  he  wants 
them  to  be  as  dumb  as  fishes :  he'd  like  them  shutting 
up  in  a  box  as  soon  as  they  make  a  bit  of  noise." 

"  I  was  not  saying  anything  about  it,"  he  replied. 

"  Yes,  you  were,"  she  retorted.  "  I  don't  know 
what  you  call  it  then " 

The  babies  outside  continued  to  cry. 

"  Bring  Alfy  to  me,"  called  Meg,  yielding  to  the 
mother  feeling. 

"  Oh,  no,  damn  it !  "  said  George,  "  let  Oswald 
take  him." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Meg  bitterly,  "  let  anybody  take 
him  so  long  as  he's  out  of  your  sight.  You  never 
ought  to  have  children,  you  didn't " 


DOMESTIC   LIFE   AT   RAM   419 

George  murmured  something  about  "  to-day." 

"  Come  then !  "  said  Meg  with  a  whole  passion  of 
tenderness,  as  she  took  the  red-haired  baby  and  held 
it  to  her  bosom,  "  Why,  what  is  it  then,  what  is  it, 
my  precious  ?    Hush  then  pet,  hush  then !  " 

The  baby  did  not  hush.  Meg  rose  from  her  chair 
and  stood  rocking  the  baby  in  her  arms,  swaying 
from  one  foot  to  the  other. 

"  He's  got  a  bit  of  wind,"  she  said. 

We  tried  to  continue  the  meal,  but  everything  was 
awkward  and  difficult. 

"  I  wonder  if  he's  hungry,"  said  Meg,  "  let's  try 
him." 

She  turned  away  and  gave  him  her  breast.  Then 
he  was  still,  so  she  covered  herself  as  much  as  she 
could,  and  sat  down  again  to  tea.  We  had  finished, 
so  we  sat  and  waited  while  she  ate.  This  disjointing 
of  the  meal,  by  reflex  action,  made  Emily  and  me 
more  accurate.  We  were  exquisitely  attentive,  and 
polite  to  a  nicety.  Our  very  speech  was  clipped  with 
precision,  as  we  drifted  to  a  discussion  of  Strauss 
and  Debussy.  This  of  course  put  a  breach  between 
us  two  and  our  hosts,  but  we  could  not  help  it;  it 
was  our  only  way  of  covering  over  the  awkwardness 
of  the  occasion.  George  sat  looking  glum  and  listen- 
ing to  us.  Meg  was  quite  indifferent.  She  listened 
occasionally,  but  her  position  as  mother  made  her 
impregnable.  She  sat  eating  calmly,  looking  down 
now  and  again  at  her  baby,  holding  us  in  slight 
scorn,  babblers  that  we  were.  She  was  secure  in  her 
high  maternity ;  she  was  mistress  and  sole  authority. 
George,  as  father,  was  first  servant ;  as  an  indifferent 
father,  she  humiliated  him  and  was  hostile  to  his 


420      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

wishes.  Emily  and  I  were  mere  intruders,  feeling 
ourselves  such.  After  tea  we  went  upstairs  to  wash 
our  hands.  The  grandmother  had  had  a  second 
stroke  of  paralysis,  and  lay  inert,  almost  stupified. 
Her  large  bulk  upon  the  bed  was  horrible  to  me,  and 
her  face,  with  the  muscles  all  slack  and  awry,  seemed 
like  some  cruel  cartoon.  She  spoke  a  few  thick 
words  to  me.  George  asked  her  if  she  felt  all  right, 
or  should  he  rub  her.  She  turned  her  old  eyes  slowly 
to  him. 

"  My  leg — my  leg  a  bit,"  she  said  in  her  strange 
guttural. 

He  took  off  his  coat,  and  pushing  his  hand  under 
the  bed-clothes,  sat  rubbing  the  poor  old  woman's 
limb  patiently,  slowly,  for  some  time.  She  watched 
him  for  a  moment,  then  without  her  turning  her 
eyes  from  him,  he  passed  out  of  her  vision  and  she 
lay  staring  at  nothing,  in  his  direction. 

"  There,"  he  said  at  last,  "  is  that  any  better  then, 
mother  ?  " 

"  Ay,  that's  a  bit  better,"  she  said  slowly. 

"  Should  I  gi'e  thee  a  drink  ?  "  he  asked,  linger- 
ing, wishing  to  minister  all  he  could  to  her  before 
he  went. 

She  looked  at  him,  and  he  brought  the  cup.  She 
swallowed  a  few  drops  with  difficulty. 

"  Doesn't  it  make  you  miserable  to  have  her 
always  there  ?  "  I  asked  him,  when  we  were  in  the 
next  room.  He  sat  down  on  the  large  white  bed  and 
laughed  shortly. 

"  We're  used  to  it — we  never  notice  her,  poor  old 
gran'ma." 

"  But  she  must  have  made  a  difference  to  you — 


DOMESTIC    LIFE    AT    RAM   421 

she  must  make  a  big  difference  at  the  bottom,  even  if 
you  don't  know  it,"  I  said. 

"  She'd  got  such  a  strong  character,"  he  said  mus- 
ing, " — she  seemed  to  understand  me.  She  was  a 
real  friend  to  me,  before  she  was  so  bad.  Sometimes 
I  happen  to  look  at  her — generally  I  never  see  her, 
you  know  how  I  mean — but  sometimes  I  do — and 
then — it  seems  a  bit  rotten " 

He  smiled  at  me  peculiarly,  " — it  seems  to  take 
the  shine  off  things,"  he  added,  and  then,  smiling 
again  with  ugly  irony — "  She's  our  skeleton  in  the 
closet."     He  indicated  her  large  bulk. 

The  church  bells  began  to  ring.  The  grey  church 
stood  on  a  rise  among  the  fields  not  far  away,  like  a 
handsome  old  stag  looking  over  towards  the  inn. 
The  five  bells  began  to  play,  and  the  sound  came  beat- 
ing upon  the  window. 

"  I  hate  Sunday  night,"  he  said,  restlessly. 

"  Because  you've  nothing  to  do  ? "  I  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "  It  seems  like  a  gag, 
and  you  feel  helpless.  I  don't  want  to  go  to  church, 
and  hark  at  the  bells,  they  make  you  feel  uncom- 
fortable." 

"  What  do  you  generally  do  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Feel  miserable — I've  been  down  to  Mayhew's 
these  last  two  Sundays,  and  Meg's  been  pretty  mad. 
She  says  it's  the  only  night  I  could  stop  with  her,  or 
go  out  with  her.  But  if  I  stop  with  her,  what  can  I 
do? — and  if  we  go  out,  it's  only  for  half  an  hour. 
I  hate  Sunday  night — it's  a  dead  end." 

When  we  went  downstairs,  the  table  was  cleared, 
and  Meg  was  bathing  the  dark  baby.  Thus  she  was 
perfect.     She  handled  the  bonny,  naked  child  with 


422       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

beauty  of  gentleness.  She  kneeled  over  him  nobly. 
Her  arms  and  her  bosom  and  her  throat  had  a  nobility 
of  roundness  and  softness.  She  drooped  her  head 
with  the  grace  of  a  Madonna,  and  her  movements  were 
lovely,  accurate  and  exquisite,  like  an  old  song  per- 
fectly sung.  Her  voice,  playing  and  soothing  round 
the  curved  limbs  of  the  baby,  was  like  water,  soft  as 
wine  in  the  sun,  running  with  delight. 

We  watched  humbly,  sharing  the  wonder  from 
afar. 

Emily  was  very  envious  of  Meg's  felicity.  She 
begged  to  be  allowed  to  bathe  the  second  baby.  Meg 
granted  her  bounteous  permission : 

"  Yes,  you  can  wash  him  if  you  like>  but  what 
about  your  frock  ?  " 

Emily,  delighted,  began  to  undress  the  baby  whose 
hair  was  like  crocus  petals.  Her  fingers  trembled 
with  pleasure,  as  she  loosed  the  little  tapes.  I  always 
remember  the  inarticulate  delight  with  which  she 
took  the  child  in  her  hands,  when  at  last  his  little 
shirt  was  removed,  and  felt  his  soft  white  limbs  and 
body.  A  distinct,  glowing  atmosphere  seemed  sud- 
denly to  burst  out  around  her  and  the  child,  leaving 
me  outside.  The  moment  before  she  had  been  very 
near  to  me,  her  eyes  searching  mine,  her  spirit  cling- 
ing timidly  about  me.  Now  I  was  put  away,  quite 
alone,  neglected,  forgotten,  outside  the  glow  which 
surrounded  the  woman  and  the  baby. 

"  Ha ! — Ha-a-a !  "  she  said  with  a  deep  throated 
vowel,  as  she  put  her  face  against  the  child's  small 
breasts,  so  round,  almost  like  a  girl's,  silken  and  warm 
and  wonderful.  She  kissed  him,  and  touched  him, 
and  hovered  over  him,  drinking  in  his  baby  sweet- 


DOMESTIC   LIFE   AT   RAM   423 

nesses,  the  sweetness  of  the  laughing  little  mouth's 
wide,  wet  kisses,  of  the  round,  waving  limbs,  of  the 
little  shoulders  so  winsomely  curving  to  the  arms  and 
the  breasts,  of  the  tiny  soft  neck  hidden  very  warm 
beneath  the  chin,  tasting  deliciously  with  her  lips  and 
her  cheeks  all  the  exquisite  softness,  silkiness, 
warmth,  and  tender  life  of  the  baby's  body. 

A  woman  is  so  ready  to  disclaim  the  body  of  a 
man's  love ;  she  yields  him  her  own  soft  beauty  with 
so  much  gentle  patience  and  regret ;  she  clings  to  his 
neck,  to  his  head  and  his  cheeks,  fondling  them  for 
the  soul's  meaning  that  is  there,  and  shrinking  from 
his  passionate,  limbs  and  his  body.  It  was  with  some 
perplexity,  some  anger  and  bitterness  that  I  watched 
Emily  moved  almost  to  ecstasy  by  the  baby's  small, 
innocuous  person. 

"  Meg  never  found  any  pleasure  in  me  as  she  does 
in  the  kids,"  said  George  bitterly,  for  himself. 

The  child,  laughing  and  crowing,  caught  his  hands 
in  Emily's  hair  and  pulled  dark  tresses  down,  while 
she  cried  out  in  remonstrance,  and  tried  to  loosen  the 
small  fists  that  were  shut  so  fast.  She  took  him  from 
the  water  and  rubbed  him  dry,  with  marvellous  gentle 
little  rubs,  he  kicking  and  expostulating.  She 
brought  his  fine  hair  into  one  silken  up-springing  of 
ruddy  gold  like  an  aureole.  She  played  with  his  tiny 
balls  of  toes,  like  wee  pink  mushrooms,  till  at  last  she 
dare  detain  him  no  longer,  when  she  put  on  his  flannel 
and  his  night-gown  and  gave  him  to  Meg. 

Before  carrying  him  to  bed  Meg  took  him  to  feed 
him.  His  mouth  was  stretched  round  the  nipple,  as 
he  sucked,  his  face  was  pressed  close  and  closer  to  the 
breast,  his  fingers  wandered  over  the  fine  white  globe, 


424       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

blue  veined  and  heavy,  trying  to  hold  it.  Meg  looked 
down  upon  him  with  a  consuming  passion  of  tender- 
ness, and  Emily  clasped  her  hands  and  leaned  for- 
ward to  him.     Even  thus  they  thought  him  exquisite. 

When  the  twins  were  both  asleep,  I  must  tip-toe  up- 
stairs to  see  them.  They  lay  cheek  by  cheek  in  the 
crib  next  the  large  white  bed,  breathing  little,  ruffling 
breaths,  out  of  unison,  so  small  and  pathetic  with 
their  tiny  shut  fingers.     I  remembered  the  two  larks. 

From  the  next  room  came  a  heavy  sound  of  the 
old  woman's  breathing.  Meg  went  in  to  her.  As  in 
passing  I  caught  sight  of  the  large,  prone  figure  in 
the  bed,  I  thought  of  Guy  de  Maupassant's  "  Toine," 
who  acted  as  an  incubator. 


CHAPTEK   V 

THE    DOMINANT    MOTIF   OF   SUFFERING 

The  old  woman  lay  still  another  year,  then  she  sud- 
denly sank  out  of  life.  George  ceased  to  write  to  me, 
but  I  learned  his  news  elsewhere.  He  became  more 
and  more  intimate  with  the  Mayhews.  After  old 
Mayhew's  bankruptcy,  the  two  sons  had  remained  on 
in  the  large  dark  house  that  stood  off  the  Nottingham 
Koad  in  Eberwich.  This  house  had  been  bequeathed 
to  the  oldest  daughter  by  the  mother.  Maud  May- 
hew,  who  was  married  and  separated  from  her  hus- 
band, kept  house  for  her  brothers.  She  was  a  tall, 
large  woman  with  high  cheek-bones  and  oily  black 
hair  looped  over  her  ears.  Tom  Mayhew  was  also  a 
handsome  man,  very  dark  and  ruddy,  with  insolent 
bright  eyes. 

The  Mayhews'  house  was  called  the  "  Hollies."  It 
was  a  solid  building,  of  old  red  brick,  standing  fifty 
yards  back  from  the  Eberwich  highroad.  Between  it 
and  the  road  was  an  unkempt  lawn,  surrounded  by 
very  high  black  holly  trees.  The  house  seemed  to  be 
imprisoned  among  the  bristling  hollies.  Passing 
through  the  large  gate,  one  came  immediately  upon 
the  bare  side  of  the  house  and  upon  the  great  range 
of  stables.  Old  Mayhew  had  in  his  day  stabled  thirty 
or  more  horses  there.  Now  grass  was  between  the 
red  bricks,  and  all  the  bleaching  doors  were  shut,  save 

425 


426       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

perhaps  two  or  three  which  were  open  for  George's 
horses. 

The  "  Hollies  "  became  a  kind  of  club  for  the  dis- 
consolate, "  better-off "  men  of  the  district.  The 
large  dining-room  was  gloomily  and  sparsely  fur- 
nished, the  drawing-room  was  a  desert,  but  the  smaller 
morning-room  was  comfortable  enough,  with  wicker 
arm-chairs,  heavy  curtains,  and  a  large  side-board. 
In  this  room  George  and  the  Mayhews  met  with  sev- 
eral men  two  or  three  times  a  week.  There  they  dis- 
cussed horses  and  made  mock  of  the  authority  of 
women.  George  provided  the  whisky,  and  they  all 
gambled  timidly  at  cards.  These  bachelor  parties 
were  the  source  of  great  annoyance  to  the  wives  of  the 
married  men  who  attended  them. 

"  He's  quite  unbearable  when  he's  been  at  those 
Mayhews',"  said  Meg.  "  I'm  sure  they  do  nothing 
but  cry  us  down." 

Maud  Mayhew  kept  apart  from  these  meetings, 
watching  over  her  two  children.  She  had  been  very 
unhappily  married,  and  now  was  reserved,  silent. 
The  women  of  Eberwich  watched  her  as  she  went 
swiftly  along  the  street  in  the  morning  with  her 
basket,  and  they  gloried  a  little  in  her  overthrow,  be- 
cause she  was  too  proud  to  accept  consolation,  yet  they 
were  sorry  in  their  hearts  for  her,  and  she  was  never 
touched  with  calumny.  George  saw  her  frequently, 
but  she  treated  him  coldly  as  she  treated  the  other 
men,  so  he  was  afraid  of  her. 

He  had  more  facilities  now  for  his  horse-dealing. 
When  the  grandmother  died,  in  the  October  two  years 
after  the  marriage  of  George  she  left  him  seven  hun- 
dred pounds.     To  Meg  she  left  the  Inn,  and  the  two 


MOTIF   OF    SUFFERING      427 

houses  she  had  built  in  Newerton,  together  with 
brewery  shares  to  the  value  of  nearly  a  thousand 
pounds.  George  and  Meg  felt  themselves  to  be  people 
of  property.  The  result,  however,  was  only  a  little 
further  coldness  between  them.  He  was  very  careful 
that  she  had  all  that  was  hers.  She  said  to  him 
once  when  they  were  quarrelling,  that  he  needn't  go 
feeding  the  Mayhews  on  the  money  that  came  out  of 
her  business.  Thenceforward  he  kept  strict  accounts 
of  all  his  affairs,  and  she  must  audit  them,  receiving 
her  exact  dues.  This  was  a  mortification  to  her 
woman's  capricious  soul  of  generosity  and  cruelty. 

The  Christmas  after  the  grandmother's  death  an- 
other son  was  born  to  them.  For  the  time  George  and 
Meg  became,  very  good  friends  again. 

When  in  the  following  March  I  heard  he  was 
coming  down  to  London  with  Tom  Mayhew  on  busi- 
ness, I  wrote  and  asked  him  to  stay  with  me.  Meg 
replied,  saying  she  was  so  glad  I  had  asked  him :  she 
did  not  want  him  going  off  with  that  fellow  again; 
he  had  been  such  a  lot  better  lately,  and  she  was  sure 
it  was  only  those  men  at  Mayhew's  made  him  what 
he  was. 

He  consented  to  stay  with  me.  I  wrote  and  told 
him  Lettie  and  Leslie  were  in  London,  and  that  we 
should  dine  with  them  one  evening.  I  met  him  at 
King's  Cross  and  we  all  three  drove,  west.  Mayhew 
was  a  remarkably  handsome,  well-built  man ;  he  and 
George  made  a  notable  couple.  They  were  both  in 
breeches  and  gaiters,  but  George  still  looked  like  a 
yeoman,  while  Mayhew  had  all  the  braggadocio  of 
the  stable.  We  made  an  impossible  trio.  Mayhew 
laughed  and  jested  broadly  for  a  short  time,  then  he 


428       THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

grew  restless  and  fidgety.  He  felt  restrained  and 
awkward  in  my  presence.  Later,  he  told  George  I 
was  a  damned  parson.  On  the  other  hand,  I  was 
content  to  look  at  his  rather  vulgar  beauty — his  teeth 
were  blackened  with  smoking — and  to  listen  to  his 
ineffectual  talk,  but  I  could  find  absolutely  no  re- 
sponse. George  was  go-between.  To  me  he  was 
cautious  and  rather  deferential,  to  Mayhew  he  was 
careless,  and  his  attitude  was  tinged  with  contempt. 

When  the  son  of  the  horse-dealer  at  last  left  us  to 
go  to  some  of  his  father's  old  cronies,  we  were  glad. 
Very  uncertain,  very  sensitive  and  wavering,  our  old 
intimacy  burned  again  like  the  fragile  burning  of 
alcohol.  Closed  together  in  the  same  blue  flames,  we 
discovered  and  watched  the  pageant  of  life  in  the 
town  revealed  wonderfully  to  us.  We  laughed  at  the 
tyranny  of  old  romance.  We  scorned  the  faded  pro- 
cession of  old  years,  and  made  mock  of  the  vast  pil- 
grimage of  by-gone  romances  travelling  farther  into 
the  dim  distance.  Were  we  not  in  the  midst  of  the 
bewildering  pageant  of  modern  life,  with  all  its  con- 
fusion of  bannerets  and  colours,  with  its  infinite  inter- 
weaving of  sounds,  the  screech  of  the  modern  toys  of 
haste  striking  like  keen  spray,  the  heavy  boom  of  busy 
mankind  gathering  its  bread,  earnestly,  forming  the 
bed  of  all  other  sounds;  and  between  these  two  the 
swiftness  of  songs,  the  triumphant  tilt  of  the  joy  of 
life,  the  hoarse  oboes  of  privation,  the  shuddering 
drums  of  tragedy,  and  the  eternal  scraping  of  the 
two  deep-toned  strings  of  despair? 

We  watched  the  taxicabs  coursing  with  their  noses 
down  to  the  street,  we  watched  the  rocking  hansoms, 
and  the  lumbering  stateliness  of  buses.     In  the  silent 


MOTIF    OF    SUFFERING      429 

green  cavern  of  the  park  we  stood  and  listened  to  the 
surging  of  the  ocean  of  life.  We  watched  a  girl 
with  streaming  hair  go  galloping  down  the  Kow,  a 
dark  man,  laughing  and  showing  his  white  teeth,  gal- 
loping more  heavily  at  her  elbow.  We  saw  a  squad  of 
life-guards  enter  the  gates  of  the  park,  erect  and  glit- 
tering with  silver  and  white  and  red.  They  came 
near  to  us,  and  we  thrilled  a  little  as  we  watched  the 
muscles  of  their  white  smooth  thighs  answering  the 
movement  of  the  horses,  and  their  cheeks  and  their 
chins  bending  with  proud  manliness  to  the  rhythm 
of  the  march.  We  watched  the  exquisite  rhythm  of 
the  body  of  men  moving  in  scarlet  and  silver  further 
down  the  leafless  avenue,  like  a  slightly  wavering 
spark  of  red  life  blown  along.  At  the  Marble  Arch 
Corner  we  listened  to  a  little  socialist  who  was  flaring 
fiercely  under  a  plane  tree.  The  hot  stream  of  his 
words  flowed  over  the  old  wounds  that  the  knowledge 
of  the  unending  miseries  of  the  poor  had  given  me, 
and  I  winced.  For  him  the  world  was  all  East-end, 
and  all  the  East-end  was  as  a  pool  from  which 
the  waters  are  drained  off,  leaving  the  water-things 
to  wrestle  in  the  wet  mud  under  the  sun,  till  the  whole 
of  the  city  seems  a  heaving,  shuddering  struggle,  of 
black-mudded  objects  deprived  of  the  elements  of 
life.  I  felt  a  great  terror  of  the  little  man,  lest  he 
should  make  me  see  all  mud,  as  I  had  seen  before. 
Then  I  felt  a  breathless  pity  for  him,  that  his  eyes 
should  be  always  filled  with  mud,  and  never  bright- 
ened. George  listened  intently  to  the  speaker,  very 
much  moved  by  him. 

At  night,  after  the  theatre,  we  saw  the  outcasts 
sleep  in  a  rank  under  the  Waterloo  bridge,  their  heads 


430       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

to  the  wall,  their  feet  lying  out  on  the  pavement:  a 
long,  black,  ruffled  heap  at  the  foot  of  the  wall.  All 
the  faces  were  covered  but  two,  that  of  a  peaked,  pale 
little  man,  and  that  of  a  brutal  woman.  Over  these 
two  faces,  floating  like  uneasy  pale  dreams  on  their 
obscurity,  swept  now  and  again  the  trailing  light  of 
the  tram  cars.  We  picked  our  way  past  the  line  of 
abandoned  feet,  shrinking  from  the  sight  of  the  thin 
bare  ankles  of  a  young  man,  from  the  draggled  edge 
of  the  skirts  of  a  bunched-up  woman,  from  the  pitiable 
sight  of  the  men  who  had  wrapped  their  legs  in  news- 
paper for  a  little  warmth,  and  lay  like  worthless 
parcels.  It  was  raining.  Some  men  stood  at  the 
edge  of  the  causeway  fixed  in  dreary  misery,  finding 
no  room  to  sleep.  Outside,  on  a  seat  in  the  blackness 
and  the  rain,  a  woman  sat  sleeping,  while  the  water 
trickled  and  hung  heavily  at  the  ends  of  her  loosened 
strands  of  hair.  Her  hands  were  pushed  in  the  bosom 
of  her  jacket.  She  lurched  forward  in  her  sleep, 
started,  and  one  of  her  hands  fell  out  of  her  bosom. 
She  sank  again  to  sleep.     George  gripped  my  arm. 

"  Give  her  something,' '  he  whispered  in  panic.  I 
was  afraid.  Then  suddenly  getting  a  florin  from  my 
pocket,  I  stiffened  my  nerves  and  slid  it  into  her  palm. 
Her  hand  was  soft,  and  warm,  and  curled  in  sleep. 
She  started  violently,  looking  up  at  me,  then  down  at 
her  hand.  I  turned  my  face  aside,  terrified  lest  she 
should  look  in  my  eyes,  and  full  of  shame  and  grief  I 
ran  down  the  embankment  to  him.  We  hurried  along 
under  the  plane  trees  in  silence.  The  shining  cars 
were  drawing  tall  in  the  distance  over  Westminster 
Bridge,  a  fainter,  yellow  light  running  with  them 
on  the  water  below.     The  wet  streets  were  spilled 


MOTIF    OF    SUFFERING      431 

with  golden  liquor  of  light,  and  on  the  deep  blackness 
of  the  river  were  the  restless  yellow  slashes  of  the 
lamps. 

Lettie  and  Leslie  were  staying  up  at  Hampstead 
with  a  friend  of  the  Tempests,  one  of  the  largest 
shareholders  in  the  firm  of  Tempest,  Wharton  &  Co. 
The  Raphaels  had  a  substantial  house,  and  Lettie 
preferred  to  go  to  them  rather  than  to  an  hotel, 
especially  as  she  had  brought  with  her  her  infant  son, 
now  ten  months  old,  with  his  nurse.  They  invited 
George  and  me  to  dinner  on  the  Friday  evening. 
The  party  included  Lottie's  host  and  hostess,  and  also 
a  Scottish  poetess,  and  an  Irish  musician,  composer  of 
songs  and  piano-forte  rhapsodies. 

Lettie  wore  a  black  lace  dress  in  mourning  for  one 
of  Leslie's  maternal  aunts.  This  made  her  look  older, 
otherwise  there  seemed  to  be  no  change  in  her.  A 
subtle  observer  might  have  noticed  a  little  hardness 
about  her  mouth,  and  disillusion  hanging  slightly  on 
her  eyes.  She  was,  however,  excited  by  the  company 
in  which  she  found  herself,  therefore  she  overflowed 
with  clever  speeches  and  rapid,  brilliant  observations. 
Certainly  on  such  occasions  she  was  admirable.  The 
rest  of  the  company  formed,  as  it  were,  the  orchestra 
which  accompanied  her. 

George  was  exceedingly  quiet.  He  spoke  a  few 
words  now  and  then  to  Mrs.  Eaphael,  but  on  the 
whole  he  was  altogether  silent,  listening. 

"  Really !  "  Lettie  was  saying,  "  I  don't  see  that 
one  thing  is  worth  doing  any  more  than  another.  It's 
like  dessert :  you  are  equally  indifferent  whether  you 
have  grapes,  or  pears,  or  pineapple." 


432       THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  Have  you  already  dined  so  far  ?  "  sang  the  Scot- 
tish poetess  in  her  musical,  plaintive  manner. 

"  The  only  thing  worth  doing  is  producing,"  said 
Lettie. 

"  Alas,  that  is  what  all  the  young  folk  are  saying 
nowadays !  "  sighed  the  Irish  musician. 

"  That  is  the  only  thing  one  finds  any  pleasure  in — 
that  is  to  say,  any  satisfaction,"  continued  Lettie, 
smiling,  and  turning  to  the  two  artists. 

"  Do  you  not  think  so  ?  "  she  added. 

"  You  do  come  to  a  point  at  last,"  said  the  Scot- 
tish poetess,  "  when  your  work  is  a  real  source  of 
satisfaction." 

"  Do  you  write  poetry  then  ? "  asked  George  of 
Lettie, 

"  I !  Oh,  dear  no !  I  have  tried  strenuously  to 
make  up  a  Limerick  for  a  competition,  but  in  vain. 
So  you  see,  I  am  a  failure  there.  Did  you  know  I 
have  a  son,  though  ? — a  marvellous  little  fellow,  is  he 
not,  Leslie? — he  is  my  work.  I  am  a  wonderful 
mother,  am  I  not,  Leslie  ?  " 

"  Too  devoted,"  he  replied. 

"  There !  "  she  exclaimed  in  triumph — "  When  I 
have  to  sign  my  name  and  occupation  in  a  visitor's 

book,  it  will  be  ' Mother.'     I  hope  my  business 

will  flourish,"  she  concluded,  smiling. 

There  was  a  touch  of  ironical  brutality  in  her  now. 
She  was,  at  the  bottom,  quite  sincere.  Having 
reached  that  point  in  a  woman's  career  when  most, 
perhaps  all  of  the  things  in  life  seem  worthless  and 
insipid,  she  had  determined  to  put  up  with  it,  to 
ignore  her  own  self,  to  empty  her  own  potentialities 
into  the  vessel  of  another  or  others,  and  to  live  her 


MOTIF    OF    SUFFERING      433 

life  at  second  hand.  This  peculiar  abnegation  of  self 
is  the  resource  of  a  woman  for  the  escaping  of  the  re- 
sponsibilities of  her  own  development.  Like  a  nun, 
she  puts  over  her  living  face  a  veil,  as  a  sign  that  the 
woman  no  longer  exists  for  herself :  she  is  the  servant 
of  God,  of  some  man,  of  her  children,  or  may  be  of 
some  cause.  As  a  servant,  she  is  no  longer  responsi- 
ble for  her  self,  which  would  make  her  terrified  and 
lonely.  Service  is  light  and  easy.  To  be  responsible 
for  the  good  progress  of  one's  life  is  terrifying.  It 
is  the  most  insufferable  form  of  loneliness,  and  the 
heaviest  of  responsibilities.  So  Lettie  indulged  her 
husband,  but  did  not  yield  her  independence  to  him ; 
rather  it  was  she  who  took  much  of  the  responsibility 
of  him  into  her  hands,  and  therefore  he  was  so  de- 
voted to  her.  She  had,  however,  now  determined  to 
abandon  the  charge  of  herself  to  serve  her  children. 
When  the  children  grew  up,  either  they  would  uncon- 
sciously fling  her  away,  back  upon  herself  again  in 
bitterness  and  loneliness,  or  they  would  tenderly 
cherish  her,  chafing  at  her  love-bonds  occasionally. 

George  looked  and  listened  to  all  the  flutter  of  con- 
versation, and  said  nothing.  It  seemed  to  him  like 
so  much  unreasonable  rustling  of  pieces  of  paper,  of 
leaves  of  books,  and  so  on.  Later  in  the  evening  Let- 
tie  sang,  no  longer  Italian  folk  songs,  but  the  frag- 
mentary utterances  of  Debussy  and  Strauss.  These 
also  to  George  were  quite  meaningless,  and  rather 
wearisome.  It  made  him  impatient  to  see  her  wast- 
ing herself  upon  them. 

"  Do  you  like  those  songs  ? "  she  asked  in  the 
frank,  careless  manner  she  affected. 

"  Not  much,"  he  replied,  ungraciously. 


434       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  Don't  you?"  she  exclaimed,  adding  with  a  smile, 
"  Those  are  the  most  wonderful  things  in  the  world, 
those  little  things  " — she  began  to  him  a  Debussy 
idiom.  He  could  not  answer  her  on  the  point,  so  he 
sat  with  the  arrow  sticking  in  him,  and  did  not 
speak. 

She  enquired  of  him  concerning  Meg  and  his 
children  and  the  affairs  of  Eberwich,  but  the  interest 
was  flimsy,  as  she  preserved  a  wide  distance  between 
them,  although  apparently  she  was  so  unaffected  and 
friendly.     We  left  before  eleven. 

When  we  were  seated  in  the  cab  and  rushing  down 
hill,  he  said: 

"  You  know,  she  makes  me  mad." 

He  was  frowning,  looking  out  of  the  window  away 
from  me. 

"  Who,  Lettie  ?    Why,  what  riles  you  ?  "  I  asked. 

He  was  some  time  in  replying. 

"  Why,  she's  so  affected." 

I  sat  still  in  the  small,  close  space  and  waited. 

"  Do  you  know ?  "  he  laughed,  keeping  his 

face  averted  from  me.  "  She  makes  my  blood  boil. 
I  could  hate  her." 

"  Why  I  "  I  said  gently. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  feel  as  if  she'd  insulted  me. 
She  does  lie,  doesn't  she  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  notice  it,"  I  said,  but  I  knew  he  meant 
her  shirking,  her  shuffling  of  her  life. 

"  And  you  think  of  those  poor  devils  under  the 
bridge — and  then  of  her  and  them  frittering  away 
themselves  and  money  in  that  idiocy " 

He  spoke  with  passion. 

"  You  are  quoting  Longfellow,"  I  said. 


MOTIF    OF    SUFFERING      435 

"  What  ?  "  he  asked,  looking  at  me  suddenly. 

"  '  Life  is  real,  life  is  earnest '  " 

He  flushed  slightly  at  my  good-natured  gibe. 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  is,"  he  replied.  "  But  it's 
a  pretty  rotten  business,  when  you  think  of  her  fool- 
ing about  wasting  herself,  and  all  the  waste  that  goes 
on  up  there,  and  the  poor  devils  rotting  on  the  em- 
bankment— and " 

"  And  you — and  Mayhew — and  me "  I  con- 
tinued. 

He  looked  at  me  very  intently  to  see  if  I  were 
mocking.  He  laughed.  I  could  see  he  was  very 
much  moved. 

"  Is  the  time  quite  out  of  joint  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Why!"— he  laughed.  "No.  But  she  makes 
me  feel  so  angry — as  if  I  should  burst — I  don't  know 
when  I  felt  in  such  a  rage.  I  wonder  why.  I'm 
sorry  for  him,  poor  devil.  '  Lettie  and  Leslie ' — 
they  seemed  christened  for  one  another,  didn't 
they?" 

"What  if  you'd  had  her?"  I  asked. 

"  We  should  have  been  like  a  cat  and  dog ;  I'd 
rather  be  with  Meg  a  thousand  times — now !  "  he 
added  significantly.  He  sat  watching  the  lamps  and 
the  people  and  the  dark  buildings  slipping  past  us. 

"  Shall  we  go  and  have  a  drink  ?  "  I  asked  him, 
thinking  we  would  call  in  Frascati's  to  see  the  come- 
and-go. 

"  I  could  do  with  a  brandy,"  he  replied,  looking 
at  me  slowly. 

We  sat  in  the  restaurant  listening  to  the  jigging 
of  the  music,  watching  the  changing  flow  of  the  peo- 
ple.   I  like  to   sit  a  long  time  by  the  hollyhocks 


436       THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

watching  the  throng  of  varied  bees  which  poise  and 
hesitate  outside  the  wild  flowers,  then  swing  in  with 
a  hum  which  sets  everything  aquiver.  But  still 
more  fascinating  it  is  to  watch  the  come  and  go  of 
people  weaving  and  intermingling  in  the  complex 
mesh  of  their  intentions,  with  all  the  subtle  grace 
and  mystery  of  their  moving,  shapely  bodies. 

I  sat  still,  looking  out  across  the  amphitheatre. 
George  looked  also,  but  he  drank  glass  after  glass  of 
brandy. 

"  I  like  to  watch  the  people,"  said  I. 

"  Ay — and  doesn't  it  seem  an  aimless,  idiotic  busi- 
ness— look  at  them !  "  he  replied  in  tones  of  con- 
tempt. I  looked  instead  at  him,  in  some  surprise 
and  resentment.  His  face  was  gloomy,  stupid  and 
unrelieved.  The  amount  of  brandy  he  had  drunk 
had  increased  his  ill  humour. 

"  Shall  we  be  going  1 "  I  said.  I  did  not  want  him 
to  get  drunk  in  his  present  state  of  mind. 

"  Ay — in  half  a  minute,"  he  finished  the  brandy, 
and  rose.  Although  he  had  drunk  a  good  deal,  he 
was  quite  steady,  only  there  was  a  disagreeable  look 
always  on  his  face,  and  his  eyes  seemed  smaller  and 
more  glittering  than  I  had  seen  them.  We  took  a 
bus  to  Victoria.  He  sat  swaying  on  his  seat  in  the 
dim,  clumsy  vehicle,  saying  not  a  word.  In  the  vast 
cavern  of  the  station  the  theatre-goers  were  hasten- 
ing, crossing  the  pale  grey  strand,  small  creatures 
scurrying  hither  and  thither  in  the  space  beneath  the 
lonely  lamps.  As  the  train  crawled  over  the  river  we 
watched  the  far-flung  hoop  of  diamond  lights  curv- 
ing slowly  round  and  striping  with  bright  threads 
the  black  water.     He  sat  looking  with  heavy  eyes, 


MOTIF    OF    SUFFERING      437 

seeming  to  shrink  from  the  enormous  unintelligible 
lettering  of  the  poem  of  London. 

The  town  was  too  large  for  him,  he  could  not  take 
in  its  immense,  its  stupendous  poetry.  What  did 
come  home  to  him  was  its  flagrant  discords.  The 
unintelligibility  of  the  vast  city  made  him  apprehen- 
sive, and  the  crudity  of  its  big,  coarse  contrasts 
wounded  him  unutterably. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  I  asked  him  as  we  went 
along  the  silent  pavement  at  Norwood. 

"  Nothing,"  he  replied.  "  Nothing !  "  and  I  did 
not  trouble  him  further. 

We  occupied  a  large,  two-bedded  room — that 
looked  down  the  hill  and  over  to  the  far  woods  of 
Kent.  He  was  morose  and  untalkative.  I  brought 
up  a  soda-syphon  and  whisky,  and  we  proceeded  to 
undress.  When  he  stood  in  his  pajamas  he  waited  as 
if  uncertain. 

"  Do  you  want  a  drink  ?  "  he  asked. 

I  did  not.  He  crossed  to  the  table,  and  as  I  got 
into  my  bed  I  heard  the  brief  fizzing  of  the  syphon. 
He  drank  his  glass  at  one  draught,  then  switched  off 
the  light.  In  the  sudden  darkness  I  saw  his  pale 
shadow  go  across  to  the  sofa  in  the  window-space. 
The  blinds  were  undrawn,  and  the  stars  looked  in. 
He  gazed  out  on  the  great  bay  of  darkness  wherein, 
far  away  and  below,  floated  a  few  sparks  of  lamps 
like  herring  boats  at  sea. 

"  Aren't  you  coming  to  bed  ? "  I  asked. 

"  I'm  not  sleepy — you  go  to  sleep,"  he  answered, 
resenting  having  to  speak  at  all. 

"  Then  put  on  a  dressing  gown — there's  one  in  that 
corner — turn  the  light  on." 


438       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

He  did  not  answer,  but  fumbled  for  the  garment 
in  the  darkness.    When  he  had  found  it,  he  said : 

"  Do  you  mind  if  I  smoke  ?  " 

I  did  not.  He  fumbled  again  in  his  pockets  for 
cigarettes,  always  refusing  to  switch  on  the  light.  I 
watched  his  face  bowed  to  the  match  as  he  lighted 
his  cigarette.  He  was  still  handsome  in  the  ruddy 
light,  but  his  features  were  coarser.  I  felt  very  sorry 
for  him,  but  I  saw  that  I  could  get  no  nearer  to  him, 
to  relieve  him.  For  some  time  I  lay  in  the  darkness 
watching  the  end  of  his  cigarette  like  a  ruddy,  ma- 
lignant insect  hovering  near  his  lips,  putting  the 
timid  stars  immensely  far  away.  He*  sat  quite  still, 
leaning  on  the  sofa  arm.  Occasionally  there  was  a 
little  glow  on  his  cheeks  as  the  cigarette  burned 
brighter,  then  again  I  could  see  nothing  but  the  dull 
red  bee. 

I  suppose  I  must  have  dropped  asleep.  Suddenly 
I  started  as  something  fell  to  the  floor.  I  heard  him 
cursing  under  his  breath. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I've  only  knocked  something  down — cigarette 
case  or  something,"  he  replied,  apologetically. 

"  Aren't  you  coming  to  bed  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  I'm  coming,"  he  answered  quite  docile. 

He  seemed  to  wander  about  and  knock  against 
things  as  he  came.     He  dropped  heavily  into  bed. 

"  Are  you  sleepy  now  \  "  I  asked. 

"  I  dunno — I  shall  be  directly,"  he  replied. 

"  What's  up  with  you  %  "  I  asked. 

"  I  dunno,"  he  answered.  "  I  am  like  this  some- 
times, when  there's  nothing  I  want  to  do,  and  no- 
where I  want  to  go,  and  nobody  I  want  to  be  near. 


MOTIF    OF    SUFFERING      439 

Then  you  feel  so  rottenly  lonely,  Cyril.  You  feel 
awful,  like  a  vacuum,  with  a  pressure  on  you,  a  sort 
of  pressure  of  darkness,  and  you  yourself — just  noth- 
ing, a  vacuum — that's  what  it's  like — a  little  vacuum 
that's  not  dark,  all  loose  in  the  middle  of  a  space  of 
darkness,  that's  pressing  on  you." 

"  Good  gracious !  "  I  exclaimed,  rousing  myself  in 
bed.    "  That  sounds  bad !  " 

He  laughed  slightly. 

"  It's  all  right,"  he  said,  "  it's  only  the  excitement 
of  London,  and  that  little  man  in  the  park,  and  that 
woman  on  the  seat — I  wonder  where  she  is  to-night, 
poor  devil — and  then  Lettie.  I  seem  thrown  off  my 
balance. — I  think,  really,  I  ought  to  have  made  some- 
thing of  myself " 

"  What  ?  "  I  asked,  as  he  hesitated. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied  slowly,  " — a  poet  or 
something,  like  Burns — I  don't  know.  I  shall  laugh 
at  myself  for  thinking  so,  to-morrow.  But  I  am  born 
a  generation  too  soon — I  wasn't  ripe  enough  when  I 
came.  I  wanted  something  I  hadn't  got.  I'm  some- 
thing short.  I'm  like  corn  in  a  wet  harvest — full, 
but  pappy,  no  good.  Is'll  rot.  I  came  too  soon ;  or  I 
wanted  something  that  would  ha'  made  me  grow 
fierce.  That's  why  I  wanted  Lettie — I  think.  But 
am  I  talking  damn  rot  ?  What  am  I  saying  ?  What 
are  you  making  me  talk  for  ?  What  are  you  listening 
for?" 

I  rose  and  went  across  to  him,  saying: 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  talk !  If  you  sleep  till  morn- 
ing things  will  look  different." 

I  sat  on  his  bed  and  took  his  hand.  He  lay  quite 
still. 


440      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  I'm  only  a  kid  after  all,  Cyril,"  he  said,  a  few 
moments  later. 

"  We  all  are,"  I  answered,  still  holding  his  hand. 
Presently  he  fell  asleep. 

When  I  awoke  the  sunlight  was  laughing  with  the 
young  morning  in  the  room.  The  large  blue  sky 
shone  against  the  window,  and  the  birds  were  calling 
in  the  garden  below,  shouting  to  one  another  and 
making  fun  of  life.  I  felt  glad  to  have  opened  my 
eyes.  I  lay  for  a  moment  looking  out  on  the  morn- 
ing as  on  a  blue  bright  sea  in  which  I  was  going  to 
plunge. 

Then  my  eyes  wandered  to  the  little  table  near  the 
couch.  I  noticed  the  glitter  of  George's  cigarette 
case,  and  then,  with  a  start,  the  whisky  decanter.  It 
was  nearly  empty.  He  must  have  drunk  three-quar- 
ters of  a  pint  of  liquor  while  I  was  dozing.  I  could 
not  believe  it.  I  thought  I  must  have  been  mistaken 
as  to  the  quantity  the  bottle  contained.  I  leaned  out 
to  see  what  it  was  that  had  startled  me  by  its  fall  the 
night  before.  It  was  the  large,  heavy  drinking  glass 
which  he  had  knocked  down  but  not  broken.  I  could 
see  no  stain  on  the  carpet. 

George  was  still  asleep.  He  lay  half  uncovered, 
and  was  breathing  quietly.  His  face  looked  inert 
like  a  mask.  The  pallid,  uninspired  clay  of  his  fea- 
tures seemed  to  have  sunk  a  little  out  of  shape,  so 
that  he  appeared  rather  haggard,  rather  ugly,  with 
grooves  of  ineffectual  misery  along  his  cheeks.  I 
wanted  him  to  wake,  so  that  his  inert,  flaccid  features 
might  be  inspired  with  life  again.  I  could  not  be- 
lieve his  charm  and  his  beauty  could  have  forsaken 
him  so,  and  left  his  features  dreary,  sunken  clay. 


MOTIF   OF    SUFFERING      441 

As  I  looked  he  woke.  His  eyes  opened  slowly. 
He  looked  at  me  and  turned  away,  unable  to  meet 
my  eyes.  He  pulled  the  bedclothes  up  over  his  shoul- 
ders, as  though  to  cover  himself  from  me,  and  he  lay 
with  his  back  to  me,  quite  still,  as  if  he  were  asleep, 
although  I  knew  he  was  quite  awake ;  he  was  suffer- 
ing the  humiliation  of  lying  waiting  for  his  life  to 
crawl  back  and  inhabit  his  body.  As  it  was,  his 
vitality  was  not  yet  sufficient  to  inform  the  muscles 
of  his  face  and  give  him  an  expression,  much  less  to 
answer  by  challenge. 


CHAPTER   VI 

PISGAH 

When  her  eldest  boy  was  three  years  old  Lettie  re- 
turned to  live  at  Eberwich.  Old  Mr.  Tempest  died 
suddenly,  so  Leslie  came  down  to  inhabit  "  High- 
close."  He  was  a  very  much  occupied  man.  Very 
often  he  was  in  Germany  or  in  the  South  of  England 
engaged  on  business.  At  home  he  was  unfailingly 
attentive  to  his  wife  and  his  two  children.  He  had 
cultivated  a  taste  for  public  life.  In  spite  of  his 
pressure  of  business  he  had  become  a  County  Coun- 
cillor, and  one  of  the  prominent  members  of  the  Con- 
servative Association.  He  was  very  fond  of  answer- 
ing or  proposing  toasts  at  some  public  dinner,  of  en- 
tertaining political  men  at  "  Highclose,"  of  taking 
the  chair  at  political  meetings,  and  finally,  of  speak- 
ing on  this  or  that  platform.  His  name  was  fairly 
often  seen  in  the  newspapers.  As  a  mine  owner,  he 
spoke  as  an  authority  on  the  employment  of  labour, 
on  royalties,  land-owning  and  so  on. 

At  home  he  was  quite  tame.  He  treated  his  wife 
with  respect,  romped  in  the  nursery,  and  domineered 
the  servants  royally.  They  liked  him  for  it — her 
they  did  not  like.  He  was  noisy,  but  unobservant, 
she  was  quiet  and  exacting.  He  would  swear  and 
bluster  furiously,  but  when  he  was  round  the  corner 
they  smiled.     She  gave  her  orders  and  passed  very 

442 


PISGAH  443 

moderate  censure,  but  they  went  away  cursing  to 
themselves.  As  Lettie  was  always  a  very  good  wife, 
Leslie  adored  her  when  he  had  the  time,  and  when  he 
had  not,  forgot  her  comfortably. 

She  was  very  contradictory.  At  times  she  would 
write  to  me  in  terms  of  passionate  dissatisfaction: 
she  had  nothing  at  all  in  her  life,  it  was  a  barren 
futility. 

"  I  hope  I  shall  have  another  child  next  spring,,, 
she  would  write,  "  there  is  only  that  to  take  away  the 
misery  of  this  torpor.  I  seem  full  of  passion  and 
energy,  and  it  all  fizzles  out  in  day  to  day  domes- 
tics  " 

When  I  replied  to  her  urging  her  to  take  some 
work  that  she  could  throw  her  soul  into,  she  would 
reply  indifferently.     Then  later: 

"  You  charge  me  with  contradiction.  Well,  natu- 
rally. You  see  I  wrote  that  screeching  letter  in  a 
mood  which  won't  come  again  for  some  time.  Gen- 
erally I  am  quite  content  to  take  the  rain  and  the 
calm  days  just  as  they  come,  then  something  flings 
me  out  of  myself — and  I  am  a  trifle  demented: — 
very,  very  blue,  as  I  tell  Leslie." 

Like  so  many  women,  she  seemed  to  live,  for  the 
most  part  contentedly,  a  small  indoor  existence  with 
artificial  light  and  padded  upholstery.  Only  occa- 
sionally, hearing  the  winds  of  life  outside,  she  clam- 
oured to  be  out  in  the  black,  keen  storm.  She  was 
driven  to  the  door,  she  looked  out  and  called  into  the 
tumult  wildly,  but  feminine  caution  kept  her  from 
stepping  over  the  threshold. 

George  was  flourishing  in  his  horse-dealing. 

In   the   morning,    processions   of    splendid    shire 


444       THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

horses,  tied  tail  and  head,  would  tramp  grandly 
along  the  quiet  lanes 'of  Eberwich,  led  by  George's 
man,  or  by  Tom  Mayhew,  while  in  the  fresh  clean 
sunlight  George  would  go  riding  by,  two  restless  nags 
dancing  beside  him. 

When  I  came  home  from  France  five  years  after 
our  meeting  in  London  I  found  him  installed  in 
the  "  Hollies."  He  had  rented  the  house  from  the 
Mayhews,  and  had  moved  there  with  his  family, 
leaving  Oswald  in  charge  of  the  "  Ram."  I  called 
at  the  large  house  one  afternoon,  but  George  was 
out.  His  family  surprised  me.  The  twins  were  tall 
lads  of  six.  There  were  two  more  boys,  and  Meg 
was  nursing  a  beautiful  baby-girl  about  a  year  old. 
This  child  was  evidently  mistress  of  the  household. 
Meg,  who  was  growing  stouter,  indulged  the  little 
creature  in  every  way. 

"  How  is  George  I "  I  asked  her. 

"  Oh,  he's  very  well,"  she  replied.  "  He's  always 
got  something  on  hand.  He  hardly  seems  to  have  a 
spare  moment;  what  with  his  socialism,  and  one 
thing  and  another." 

It  was  true,  the  outcome  of  his  visit  to  London 
had  been  a  wild  devotion  to  the  cause  of  the  down- 
trodden. I  saw  a  picture  of  Watt's  "  Mammon," 
on  the  walls  of  the  morning-room,  and  the  works  of 
Blatchford,  Masterman,  and  Chiozza  Money  on  the 
side  table.  The  socialists  of  the  district  used  to  meet 
every  other  Thursday  evening  at  the  "  Hollies  "  to 
discuss  reform.  Meg  did  not  care  for  these  earnest 
souls. 

"  They're  not  my  sort,"  she  said,  "  too  jerky  and 
bumptious.     They  think  everybody's  slow-witted  but 


PISGAH  445 

them.  There's  one  thing  about  them,  though,  they 
don't  drink,  so  that's  a  blessing." 

"  Why !  "  I  said,  "  Have  you  had  much  trouble 
that  way  % " 

She  lowered  her  voice  to  a  pitch  which  was  suf- 
ficiently mysterious  to  attract  the  attention  of  the 
boys. 

"  I  shouldn't  say  anything  if  it  wasn't  that  you 
were  like  brothers,"  she  said.  "  But  he  did  begin  to 
have  dreadful  drinking  bouts.  You  know  it  was 
always  spirits,  and  generally  brandy: — and  that 
makes  such  work  with  them.  You've  no  idea  what 
he's  like  when  he's  evil-drunk.  Sometimes  he's  all 
for  talk,  sometimes  he's  laughing  at  everything,  and 

sometimes  he's  just  snappy.     And  then "  here 

her  tones  grew  ominous,  " — he'll  come  home  evil- 
drunk." 

At  the  memory  she  grew  serious. 

"  You  couldn't  imagine  what  it's  like,  Cyril,"  she 
said.  "  It's  like  having  Satan  in  the  house  with  you, 
or  a  black  tiger  glowering  at  you.  I'm  sure  nobody 
knows  what  I've  suffered  with  him " 

The  children  stood  with  large,  awful  eyes  and 
paling  lips,  listening. 

"  But  he's  better  now  ?  "  I  said. 

"  Oh,  yes — since  Gertie  came," — she  looked  fondly 
at  the  baby  in  her  arms — "  He's  a  lot  better  now. 
You  see  he  always  wanted  a  girl,  and  he's  very  fond 
of  her — isn't  he,  pet  ? — are  you  your  Dadda's  girlie  ? 
— and  Mamma's  too,  aren't  you  ?  " 

The  baby  turned  with  sudden  coy  shyness,  and 
clung  to  her  mother's  neck.  Meg  kissed  her  fondly, 
then  the  child  laid  her  cheek  against  her  mother's. 


446       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

The  mother's  dark  eyes,  and  the  baby's  large,  hazel 
eyes  looked  at  me  serenely.  The  two  were  very  calm, 
very  complete  and  triumphant  together.  In  their 
completeness  was  a  security  which  made  me  feel 
alone  and  ineffectual.  A  woman  who  has  her  child 
in  her  arms  is  a  tower  of  strength,  a  beautiful,  un- 
assailable tower  of  strength  that  may  in  its  turn 
stand  quietly  dealing  death. 

I  told  Meg  I  would  call  again  to  see  George.  Two 
evenings  later  I  asked  Lettie  to  lend  me  a  dog-cart 
to  drive  over  to  the  "  Hollies."  Leslie  was  away  on 
one  of  his  political  jaunts,  and  she  was  restless.  She 
proposed  to  go  with  me.  She  had  called  on  Meg 
twice  before  in  the  new  large  home. 

We  started  about  six  o'clock.  The  night  was  dark 
and  muddy.  Lettie  wanted  to  call  in  Eberwich  vil- 
lage, so  she  drove  the  long  way  round  Selsby.  The 
horse  was  walking  through  the  gate  of  the  "  Hollies  " 
at  about  seven  o'clock.  Meg  was  upstairs  in  the 
nursery,  the  maid  told  me,  and  George  was  in  the 
dining-room  getting  baby  to  sleep. 

"  All  right !  "  I  said,  "  we  will  go  in  to  him. 
Don't  bother  to  tell  him." 

As  we  stood  in  the  gloomy,  square  hall  we  heard 
the  rumble  of  a  rocking-chair,  the  stroke  coming 
slow  and  heavy  to  the  tune  of  "  Henry  Martin,"  one 
of  our  Strelley  Mill  folk  songs.  Then,  through  the 
man's  heavily-accented  singing  floated  the  long,  light 
crooning  of  the  baby  as  she  sang,  in  her  quaint  little 
fashion,  a  mischievous  second  to  her  father's  lullaby. 
He  waxed  a  little  louder ;  and  without  knowing  why, 
we  found  ourselves  smiling  with  piquant  amusement. 
The  baby  grew  louder  too,  till  there  was  a  shrill  ring 


PISGAH  447 

of  laughter  and  mockery  in  her  music.  He  sang 
louder  and  louder,  the  baby  shrilled  higher  and 
higher,  the  chair  swung  in  long,  heavy  beats.  Then 
suddenly  he  began  to  laugh.  The  rocking  stopped, 
and  he  said,  still  with  laughter  and  enjoyment  in 
his  tones: 

"  Now  that  is  very  wicked !  Ah,  naughty  Girlie 
— go  to  boh,  go  to  bohey ! — at  once." 

The  baby  chuckled  her  small,  insolent  mockery. 

"  Come,  Mamma ! "  he  said,  "  come  and  take 
Girlie  to  bohey !  " 

The  baby  laughed  again,  but  with  an  uncertain 
touch  of  appeal  in  her  tone.  We  opened  the  door 
and  entered.  He  looked  up  very  much  startled  to 
see  us.  He  was  sitting  in  a  tall  rocking-chair  by  the 
fire,  coatless,  with  white  shirtsleeves.  The  baby,  in 
her  high-waisted,  tight  little  night-gown,  stood  on  his 
knee,  her  wide  eyes  fixed  on  us,  wild  wisps  of  her 
brown  hair  brushed  across  her  forehead  and  glint- 
ing like  puffs  of  bronze  dust  over  her  ears.  Quickly 
she  put  her  arms  round  his  neck  and  tucked  her 
face  under  his  chin,  her  small  feet  poised  on  his 
thigh,  the  night-gown  dropping  upon  them.  He  shook 
his  head  as  the  puff  of  soft  brown  hair  tickled  him. 
He  smiled  at  us,  saying: 

"You  see  I'm  busy!" 

Then  he  turned  again  to  the  little  brown  head 
tucked  under  his  chin,  blew  away  the  luminous  cloud 
of  hair,  and  rubbed  his  lips  and  his  moustache  on  the 
small  white  neck,  so  warm  and  secret.  The  baby  put 
up  her  shoulders,  and  shrank  a  little,  bubbling  in  his 
neck  with  hidden  laughter.  She  did  not  lift  her 
face  or  loosen  her  arms. 


448       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  She  thinks  she  is  shy,"  he  said.  "  Look  up, 
young  hussy,  and  see  the  lady  and  gentleman.  She 
is  a  positive  owl,  she  won't  go  to  bed — will  you, 
young  brown-owl  ? " 

He  tickled  her  neck  again  with  his  moustache, 
and  the  child  bubbled  over  with  naughty,  merry 
laughter. 

The  room  was  very  warm,  with  a  red  bank  of  fire 
up  the  chimney  mouth.  It  was  half  lighted  from 
a  heavy  bronze  chandelier,  black  and  gloomy,  in  the 
middle  of  the  room.  There  was  the  same  sombre, 
sparse  furniture  that  the  May  hews  had  had.  George 
looked  large  and  handsome,  the  glossy  black  silk  of 
his  waistcoat  fitting  close  to  his  sides,  the  roundness 
of  the  shoulder  muscle  filling  the  white  linen  of  his 
sleeves. 

Suddenly  the  baby  lifted  her  head  and  stared  at 
us,  thrusting  into  her  mouth  the  dummy  that  was 
pinned  to  the  breast  of  her  night-gown.  The  faded 
pink  sleeves  of  the  night-gown  were  tight  on  her  fat 
little  wrists.  She  stood  thus  sucking  her  dummy, 
one  arm  round  her  father's  neck,  watching  us  with 
hazel  solemn  eyes.  Then  she  pushed  her  fat  little 
fist  up  among  the  bush  of  small  curls,  and  began  to 
twist  her  fingers  about  her  ear  that  was  white  like 
a  camelia  flower. 

"  She  is  really  sleepy,"  said  Lettie. 

"  Come  then ! "  said  he,  folding  her  for  sleep 
against  his  breast.     "  Come  and  go  to  boh." 

But  the  young  rascal  immediately  began  to  cry 
her  remonstrance.  She  stiffened  herself,  freed  her- 
self, and  stood  again  on  his  knee,  watching  us  sol- 
emnly, vibrating  the  dummy  in  her  mouth  as  she 


PISGAH  449 

suddenly  sucked  at  it,  twisting  her  father's  ear  in  her 
small  fingers  till  he  winced. 

"  Her  nails  are  sharp,"  he  said,  smiling. 

He  began  asking  and  giving  the  small  information 
that  pass  between  friends  who  have  not  met  for  a 
long  time.  The  baby  laid  her  head  on  his  shoulder, 
keeping  her  tired,  owl-like  eyes  fixed  darkly  on  us. 
Then  gradually  the  lids  fluttered  and  sank,  and  she 
dropped  on  to  his  arm. 

"  She  is  asleep,"  whispered  Lettie. 

Immediately  the  dark  eyes  opened  again.  We 
looked  significantly  at  one  another,  continuing  our 
subdued  talk.    After  a  while  the  baby  slept  soundly. 

Presently  Meg  came  downstairs.  She  greeted  us 
in  breathless  whispers  of  surprise,  and  then  turned 
to  her  husband. 

"  Has  she  gone  ? "  she  whispered,  bending  over 
the  sleeping  child  in  astonishment.  "  My,  this  is 
wonderful,  isn't  it !  " 

She  took  the  sleeping,  drooping  baby  from  his 
arms,  putting  her  mouth  close  to  its  forehead,  mur- 
muring with  soothing,  inarticulate  sounds. 

We  stayed  talking  for  some  time  when  Meg  had 
put  the  baby  to  bed.  George  had  a  new  tone  of 
assurance  and  authority.  In  the  first  place  he  was 
an  established  man,  living  in  a  large  house,  having 
altogether  three  men  working  for  him.  In  the  sec- 
ond place  he  had  ceased  to  value  the  conventional 
treasures  of  social  position  and  ostentatious  refine- 
ment. Very,  very  many  things  he  condemned  as 
flummery  and  sickly  waste  of  time.  The  life  of  an 
ordinary  well-to-do  person  he  set  down  as  adorned 
futility,  almost  idiocy.     He  spoke  passionately  of 


450       THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

the  monstrous  denial  of  life  to  the  many  by  the  for- 
tunate few.     He  talked  at  Lettie  most  flagrantly. 

"  Of  course,"  she  said,  "  I  have  read  Mr.  Wells 
and  Mr.  Shaw,  and  even  Niel  Lyons  and  a  Dutch- 
man— what  is  his  name,  Querido  ?  But  what  can  I 
do?  I  think  the  rich  have  as  much  misery  as  the 
poor,  and  of  quite  as  deadly  a  sort.  What  can  I  do  ? 
It  is  a  question  of  life  and  the  development  of  the 
human  race.  Society  and  its  regulations  is  not  a 
sort  of  drill  that  endless  Napoleons  have  forced  on 
us:  it  is  the  only  way  we  have  yet  found  of  living 
together." 

"  Pah !  "  said  he,  "  that  is  rank  cowardice.  It  is 
feeble  and  futile  to  the  last  degree." 

"  We  can't  grow  consumption-proof  in  a  genera- 
tion, nor  can  we  grow  poverty-proof." 

"  We  can  begin  to  take  active  measures,"  he  re- 
plied contemptuously. 

"  We  can  all  go  into  a  sanatorium  and  live  miser- 
ably and  dejectedly  warding  off  death,"  she  said, 
"  but  life  is  full  of  goodliness  for  all  that." 

"  It  is  fuller  of  misery,"  he  said. 

Nevertheless,  she  had  shaken  him.  She  still  kept 
her  astonishing  power  of  influencing  his  opinions. 
All  his  passion,  and  heat,  and  rude  speech,  analysed 
out,  was  only  his  terror  at  her  threatening  of  his 
life-interest. 

She  was  rather  piqued  by  his  rough  treatment  of 
her,  and  by  his  contemptuous  tone.  Moreover,  she 
could  never  quite  let  him  be.  She  felt  a  driving 
force  which  impelled  her  almost  against  her  will  to 
interfere  in  his  life.  She  invited  him  to  dine  with 
them  at  Highclose.    He  was  now  quite  possible.    He 


PISGAH  451 

had,  in  the  course  of  his  business,  been  sufficiently 
in  the  company  of  gentlemen  to  be  altogether 
m  comme  il  faut "  at  a  private  dinner,  and  after 
dinner. 

She  wrote  me  concerning  him  occasionally: 

"  George  Saxton  was  here  to  dinner  yesterday. 
He  and  Leslie  had  frightful  battles  over  the  na- 
tionalisation of  industries.  George  is  rather  more 
than  a  match  for  Leslie,  which,  in  his  secret  heart, 
makes  our  friend  gloriously  proud.  It  is  very  amus- 
ing. I,  of  course,  have  to  preserve  the  balance  of 
power,  and,  of  course,  to  bolster  my  husband's  dig- 
nity. At  a  crucial,  dangerous  moment,  when  George 
is  just  going  to  wave  his  bloody  sword  and  Leslie 
lies  bleeding  with  rage,  I  step  in  and  prick  the  vic- 
tor under  the  heart  with  some  little  satire  or  some 
esoteric  question,  I  raise  Leslie  and  say  his  blood  is 
luminous  for  the  truth,  and  vous  voila!  Then  I 
abate  for  the  thousandth  time  Leslie's  conservative 
crow,  and  I  appeal  once  more  to  George — it  is  no 
use  my  arguing  with  him,  he  gets  so  angry — I  make 
an  abtruse  appeal  for  all  the  wonderful,  sad,  and 
beautiful  expressions  on  the  countenance  of  life,  ex- 
pressions which  he  does  not  see  or  which  he  distorts 
by  his  oblique  vision  of  socialism  into  grimaces — 
and  there  I  am!  I  think  I  am  something  of  a 
Machiavelli,  but  it  is  quite  true,  what  I  say " 

Again  she  wrote: 

"  We  happened  to  be  motoring  from  Derby  on 
Sunday  morning,  and  as  we  came  to  the  top  of  the 
hill,  we  had  to  thread  our  way  through  quite  a  large 
crowd.  I  looked  up,  and  whom  should  I  see  but  our 
friend  George,  holding  forth  about  the  state  endow- 


452       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

ment  of  mothers.  I  made  Leslie  stop  while  we  lis- 
tened. The  market-place  was  quite  full  of  people. 
George  saw  us,  and  became  fiery.  Leslie  then  grew 
excited,  and  although  I  clung  to  the  skirts  of  his  coat 
with  all  my  strength,  he  jumped  up  and  began  to 
question.  I  must  say  it  with  shame  and  humility — 
he  made  an  ass  of  himself.  The  men  all  round  were 
jeering  and  muttering  under  their  breath.  I  think 
Leslie  is  not  very  popular  among  them,  he  is  such  an 
advocate  of  machinery  which  will  do  the  work  of 
men.  So  they  cheered  our  friend  George  when  he 
thundered  forth  his  replies  and  his  demonstrations. 
He  pointed  his  finger  at  us,  and  flung  his  hand  at 
us,  and  shouted  till  I  quailed  in  my  seat.  I  cannot 
understand  why  he  should  become  so  frenzied  as 
soon  as  I  am  within  range.  George  had  a  triumph 
that  morning,  but  when  I  saw  him  a  few  days  later 
he  seemed  very  uneasy,  rather  self -mistrustful " 

Almost  a  year  later  I  heard  from  her  again  on 
the  same  subject. 

"  I  have  had  such  a  lark.  Two  or  three  times  I 
have  been  to  the  i  Hollies ' ;  to  socialist  meetings. 
Leslie  does  not  know.  They  are  great  fun.  Of 
course,  I  am  in  sympathy  with  the  socialists,  but  I 
cannot  narrow  my  eyes  till  I  see  one  thing  only. 
Life  is  like  a  large,  rather  beautiful  man  who  is 
young  and  full  of  vigour,  but  hairy,  barbaric,  with 
hands  hard  and  dirty,  the  dirt  ingrained.  I  know 
his  hands  are  very  ugly,  I  know  his  mouth  is  not 
firmly  shapen,  I  know  his  limbs  are  hairy  and 
brutal:  but  his  eyes  are  deep  and  very  beautiful. 
That  is  what  I  tell  George. 

The  people  are  so  earnest,  they  make  me  sad. 


PISGAH  453 

But  then,  they  are  so  didactic,  they  hold  forth  so 
much,  they  are  so  cock-sure  and  so  narrow-eyed,  they 
make  me  laugh.  George  laughs  too.  I  am  sure  we 
made  such  fun  of  a  straight-haired  goggle  of  a  girl 
who  had  suffered  in  prison  for  the  cause  of  women, 
that  I  am  ashamed  when  I  see  my  "  Woman's 
League  "  badge.  At  the  bottom,  you  know,  Cyril,  I 
don't  care  for  anything  very  much,  except  myself. 
Things  seem  so  frivolous.  I  am  the  only  real  thing, 
I  and  the  children " 

Gradually  George  fell  out  of  the  socialist  move- 
ment. It  wearied  him.  It  did  not  feed  him  alto- 
gether. He  began  by  mocking  his  friends  of  the  con- 
fraternity. Then  he  spoke  in  bitter  dislike  of  Hud- 
son, the  wordy,  humorous,  shallow  leader  of  the 
movement  in  Eberwich;  it  was  Hudson  with  his 
wriggling  and  his  clap-trap  who  disgusted  George 
with  the  cause.  Finally  the  meetings  at  the  (  Hol- 
lies '  ceased,  and  my  friend  dropped  all  connection 
with  his  former  associates. 

He  began  to  speculate  in  land.  A  hosiery  factory 
moved  to  Eberwich,  giving  the  place  a  new  stimulus 
to  growth.  George  happened  to  buy  a  piece  of  land 
at  the  end  of  the  street  of  the  village.  When  he  got 
it,  it  was  laid  out  in  allotment  gardens.  These  were 
becoming  valueless  owing  to  the  encroachment  of 
houses.  He  took  it,  divided  it  up,  and  offered  it  as 
sites  for  a  new  row  of  shops.  He  sold  at  a  good 
profit. 

Altogether  he  was  becoming  very  well  off.  I  heard 
from  Meg  that  he  was  flourishing,  that  he  did  not 
drink  "  anything  to  speak  of,"  but  that  he  was  always 
out,  she  hardly  saw  anything  of  him.     If  getting-on 


454      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

was  to  keep  him  so  much  away  from  home,  she  would 
be  content  with  a  little  less  fortune.  He  complained 
that  she  was  narrow,  and  that  she  would  not  entertain 
any  sympathy  with  any  of  his  ideas. 

"  Nobody  comes  here  to  see  me  twice,"  he  said. 
"  Because  Meg  receives  them  in  such  an  off-hand 
fashion.  I  asked  Jim  Curtiss  and  his  wife  from 
Everley  Hall  one  evening.  We  were  uncomfortable 
all  the  time.  Meg  had  hardly  a  word  for  anybody — 
'Yes'  and  <  No '  and  <Hm  Hm!'— They'll  never 
come  again." 

Meg  herself  said : 

"  Oh,  I  can't  stand  stuck-up  folks.  They  make  me 
feel  uncomfortable.  As  soon  as  they  begin  mincing 
their  words  I'm  done  for — I  can  no  more  talk  than  a 
lobster " 

Thus  their  natures  contradicted  each  other.  He 
tried  hard  to  gain  a  footing  in  Eberwich.  As  it  was 
he  belonged  to  no  class  of  society  whatsoever.  Meg 
visited  and  entertained  the  wives  of  small  shop-keep- 
ers and  publicans:  this  was  her  set. 

George  voted  the  women  loud-mouthed,  vulgar,  and 
narrow — not  without  some  cause.  Meg,  however, 
persisted.  She  visited  when  she  thought  fit,  and  en- 
tertained when  he  was  out.  He  made  acquaintance 
after  acquaintance:  Dr.  Francis;  Mr.  Cartridge,  the 
veterinary  surgeon ;  Toby  Heswall,  the  brewer's  son ; 
the  Curtisses,  farmers  of  good  standing  from  Everley 
Hall.  But  it  was  no  good.  George  was  by  nature  a 
family  man.  He  wanted  to  be  private  and  secure  in 
his  own  rooms,  then  he  was  at  ease.  As  Meg  never 
went  out  with  him,  and  as  every  attempt  to  enter- 
tain at  the  "  Hollies  "  filled  him  with  shame  and 


PISGAH  455 

mortification,  he  began  to  give  up  trying  to  place  him- 
self, and  remained  suspended  in  social  isolation  at  the 
"  Hollies." 

The  friendship  between  Lettie  and  himself  had 
been  kept  up,  in  spite  of  all  things.  Leslie  was  some- 
times jealous,  but  he  dared  not  show  it  openly,  for 
fear  of  his  wife's  scathing  contempt.  George  went  to 
"  Highclose  "  perhaps  once  in  a  fortnight,  perhaps 
not  so  often.  Lettie  never  went  to  the  "  Hollies,"  as 
Meg's  attitude  was  too  antagonistic. 

Meg  complained  very  bitterly  of  her  husband.  He 
often  made  a  beast  of  himself  drinking,  he  thought 
more  of  himself  than  he  ought,  home  was  not  good 
enough  for  him,  he  was  selfish  to  the  back-bone,  he 
cared  neither  for  her  nor  the  children,  only  for  him- 
self. 

I  happened  to  be  at  home  for  Lettie's  thirty-first 
birthday.  George  was  then  thirty-five.  Lettie  had 
allowed  her  husband  to  forget  her  birthday.  He  was 
now  very  much  immersed  in  politics,  foreseeing  a 
general  election  in  the  following  year,  and  intending 
to  contest  the  seat  in  parliament.  The  division  was 
an  impregnable  Liberal  stronghold,  but  Leslie  had 
hopes  that  he  might  capture  the  situation.  Therefore 
he  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  at  the  conservative  club, 
and  among  the  men  of  influence  in  the  southern  divi- 
sion. Lettie  encouraged  him  in  these  affairs.  It  re- 
lieved her  of  him.  It  was  thus  that  she  let  him  for- 
get her  birthday,  while,  for  some  unknown  reason, 
she  let  the  intelligence  slip  to  George.  He  was  in- 
vited to  dinner,  as  I  was  at  home. 


456      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

George  came  at  seven  o'clock.  There  was  a  strange 
feeling  of  festivity  in  the  house,  although  there,  were 
no  evident  signs.  Lettie  had  dressed  with  some 
magnificence  in  a  blackish  purple  gauze,  over  soft  satin 
of  lighter  tone,  nearly  the  colour  of  double  violets. 
She  wore  vivid  green  azurite  ornaments  on  the  fair- 
ness of  her  bosom,  and  her  bright  hair  was  bound  by 
a  band  of  the  same  colour.  It  was  rather  startling. 
She  was  conscious  of  her  effect,  and  was  very  excited. 
Immediately  George  saw  her  his  eyes  wakened  with  a 
dark  glow.  She  stood  up  as  he  entered,  her  hand 
stretched  straight  out  to  him,  her  body  very  erect, 
her  eyes  bright  and  rousing,  like  two  blue  pennants. 

"  Thank  you  so  much/'  she.  said  softly,  giving  his 
hand  a  last  pressure  before  she  let  it  go.  He  could 
not  answer,  so  he  sat  down,  bowing  his  head, 
then  looking  up  at  her  in  suspense.  She  smiled  at 
her. 

Presently  the  children  came  in.  They  looked  very 
quaint,  like  acolytes,  in  their  long  straight  dressing- 
gowns  of  quilted  blue  silk.  The  boy,  particularly, 
looked  as  if  he  were  going  to  light  the  candles  in  some 
childish  church  in  paradise.  He  was  very  tall  and 
slender  and  fair,  with  a  round  fine  head,  and  serene 
features.  Both  children  looked  remarkably,  almost 
transparently,  clean :  it  is  impossible  to  consider  any- 
thing more  fresh  and  fair.  The  girl  was  a  merry, 
curly  headed  puss  of  six.  She  played  with  her 
mother's  green  jewels  and  prattled  prettily,  while  the 
boy  stood  at  his  mother's  side,  a  slender  and  silent 
acolyte  in  his  pale  blue  gown.  I  was  impressed  by  his 
patience  and  his  purity.  When  the  girl  had  bounded 
away  into  George's  arms,  the  lad  laid  his  hand  timidly 


PISGAH  457 

on  Lettie' s  knee  and  looked  with  a  little  wonder  at 
her  dress. 

"  How  pretty  those  green  stones  are,  mother !  "  he 
said. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Lettie  brightly,  lifting  them  and 
letting  their  strange  pattern  fall  again  on  her  bosom. 
"  I  like  them." 

"  Are  you  going  to  sing,  mother  %  "  he  asked. 

"  Perhaps.     But  why  ?  "  said  Lettie,  smiling. 

"  Because  you  generally  sing  when  Mr.  Saxton 
comes." 

He  bent  his  head  and  stroked  Lettie's  dress  shyly. 

"  Do  I,"  she  said,  laughing,  "  Can  you  hear  ?  " 

"  Just  a  little,"  he  replied.  "  Quite  small,  as  if  it 
were  nearly  lost  in  the  dark." 

He  was  hesitating,  shy  as  boys  are.  Lettie  laid 
her  hand  on  his  head  and  stroked  his  smooth  fair 
hair. 

"  Sing  a  song  for  us  before  we  go,  mother "  he 

asked,  almost  shamefully.     She  kissed  him. 

"  You  shall  sing  with  me,"  she  said.  "  What  shall 
it  be?" 

She  played  without  a  copy  of  the  music.  He  stood 
at  her  side,  while  Lucy,  the  little  mouse,  sat  on  her 
mother's  skirts,  pressing  Lettie's  silk  slippers  in  turn 
upon  the  pedals.  The  mother  and  the  boy  sang  their 
song. 

"  Gaily  the  troubadour  touched  his  guitar 
As  he  was  hastening  from  the  war." 

The  boy  had  a  pure  treble,  clear  as  the  flight  of 
swallows  in  the  morning.  The  light  shone  on  his  lips. 
Under  the  piano  the  girl  child  sat  laughing,  pressing 


458       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

her  mother's  feet  with  all  her  strength,  and  laughing 
again.     Lettie  smiled  as  she  sang. 

At  last  they  kissed  us  a  gentle  "  good-night,"  and 
flitted  out  of  the  room.  The  girl  popped  her 
curly  head  round  the  door  again.  We  saw  the  white 
cuff  on  the  nurse's  wrist  as  she  held  the  youngster's 
arm. 

"  You'll  come  and  kiss  us  when  we're  in  bed, 
Mum  |  "  asked  the  rogue.  Her  mother  laughed  and 
agreed. 

Lucy  was  withdrawn  for  a  moment ;  then  we  heard 
her,  "  Just  a  tick,  nurse,  just  half-a-tick!  " 

The  curly  head  appeared  round  the  door  again. 

"  And  one  teenie  sweetie,"  she  suggested,  "  only 
oner' 

"  Go,  you !  "     Lettie  clapped   her  hands  in 

mock  wrath.  The  child  vanished,  but  immediately 
there  appeared  again  round  the  door  two  blue  laugh- 
ing eyes  and  the  snub  tip  of  a  nose. 

"  A  nice  one,  Mum — not  a  jelly-one !  " 

Lettie  rose  with  a  rustle,  to  sweep  upon  her.  The 
child  vanished  with  a  glitter  of  laughter.  We  heard 
her  calling  breathlessly  on  the  stairs — "  Wait  a  bit, 
Freddie, — wait  for  me !  " 

George  and  Lettie  smiled  at  each  other  when  the 
children  had  gone.  As  the  smile  died  from  their 
faces  they  looked  down  sadly,  and  until  dinner  was 
announced  they  were  very  still  and  heavy  with  melan- 
choly. After  dinner  Lettie  debated  pleasantly  which 
bon-bon  she  should  take  for  the  children.  When  she 
came  down  again  she  smoked  a  cigarette  with  us  over 
coffee.  George  did  not  like  to  see  her  smoking,  yet 
he  brightened  a  little  when  he  sat  down  after  giving 


PISGAH  459 

her  a  light,  pleased  with  the  mark  of  recklessness  in 
her. 

"  It  is  ten  years  to-day  since  my  party  at  Wood- 
side,"  she  said,  reaching  for  the  small  Roman  salt- 
cellar of  green  jade  that  she  used  as  an  ash-tray. 

"  My  Lord — ten  years !  "  he  exclaimed  bitterly. 
"  It  seems  a  hundred." 

"  It  does  and  it  doesn't,"  she  answered,  smiling. 

"  If  I  look  straight  hack,  and  think  of  my  excite- 
ment, it  seems  only  yesterday.  If  I  look  between 
then  and  now,  at  all  the  days  that  lie  between,  it  is 
an  age." 

"  If  I  look  at  myself,"  he  said,  "  I  think  I  am  an- 
other person  altogether." 

"  You  have  changed,"  she  agreed,  looking  at  him 
sadly.  "  There  is  a  great  change — but  you  are  not 
another  person.  I  often  think — there  is  one  of  his 
old  looks,  he  is  just  the  same  at  the  bottom !  " 

They  embarked  on  a  barge  of  gloomy  recollections 
and  drifted  along  the  soiled  canal  of  their  past. 

"  The  worst  of  it  is,"  he  said.  "  I  have  got  a  miser- 
able carelessness,  a  contempt  for  things.  You  know 
I  had  such  a  faculty  for  reverence.  I  always  believed 
in  things." 

"  I  know  you  did,"  she  smiled.  "  You  were  so 
humbly-minded — too  humbly-minded,  I  always  con- 
sidered. You  always  thought  things  had  a  deep  reli- 
gious meaning,  somewhere  hidden,  and  you  rever- 
enced them.     Is  it  different  now  J  " 

"  You  know  me  very  well,"  he  laughed.  "  What 
is  there  left  for  me  to  believe  in,  if  not  in  myself  ?  " 

"  You  have  to  live  for  your  wife  and  children," 
she  said  with  firmness. 


460       THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

"Meg  has  plenty  to  secure  her  and  the  children 
as  long  as  they  live,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  So  I  don't 
know  that  I'm  essential." 

"  But  you  are,"  she  replied.  "  You  are  necessary 
as  a  father  and  a  husband,  if  not  as  a  provider." 

"  I  think,"  said  he,  "  marriage  is  more  of  a  duel 
than  a  duet.  One  party  wins  and  takes  the.  other 
captive,  slave,  servant — what  you  like.  It  is  so,  more 
or  less." 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Lettie. 

"  Well !  "  he  answered.  "  Meg  is  not  like  you. 
She  wants  me,  part  of  me,  so  she'd  kill  me  rather  than 
let  me  go  loose." 

"  Oh,  no !  "  said  Lettie,  emphatically. 

"  You  know  nothing  about  it,"  he  said  quietly. 

"  In  the  marital  duel  Meg  is  winning.  The  woman 
generally  does;  she  has  the  children  on  her  side.  I 
can't  give  her  any  of  the  real  part  of  me,  the  vital 
part  that  she  wants — I  can't,  any  more  than  you  could 
give  kisses  to  a  stranger.  And  I  feel  that  I'm  losing 
— and  don't  care." 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  you  are  getting  morbid." 

He  put  the  cigarette  between  his  lips,  drew  a  deep 
breath,  then  slowly  sent  the  smoke  down  his  nostrils. 

"  No,"  he  said. 

"  Look  here !  "  she  said.  "  Let  me  sing  to  you, 
shall  I,  and  make  you  cheerful  again  ? " 

She  sang  from  Wagner.  It  was  the  music  of 
resignation  and  despair.  She  had  not  thought  of  it. 
All  the  time  he  listened  he  was  thinking.  The  music 
stimulated  his  thoughts  and  illuminated  the  trend  of 
his  brooding.  All  the  time  he  sat  looking  at  her  his 
eyes  were  dark  with  his  thoughts.     She  finished  the 


PISGAH  461 

"  Star  of  Eve  "  from  Tannhauser  and  came  over  to 
him. 

"  Why  are  you  so  sad  to-night,  when  it  is  my  birth- 
day ? "  she  asked  plaintively. 

u  Am  I  slow  ?  "  he  replied.     "  I  am  sorry." 

u  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  she  said,  sinking  onto  the 
small  sofa  near  to  him. 

"  Nothing !  "  he  replied — "  You  are  looking  very 
beautiful." 

"  There,  I  wanted  you  to  say  that !  You  ought  to 
be  quite  gay,  you  know,  when  I  am  so  smart  to-night." 

"  Nay,"  he  said,  "  I  know  I  ought.  But  the  to- 
morrow seems  to  have  fallen  in  love  with  me.  I  can't 
get  out  of  its  lean  arms." 

"  Why !  "  she  said.  "  To-morrow's  arms  are  not 
lean.  They  are  white,  like  mine."  She  lifted  her 
arms  and  looked  at  them,  smiling. 

"  How  do  you  know  ? "  he  asked,  pertinently. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  they  are,"  was  her  light  answer. 

He  laughed,  brief  and  sceptical. 

"  No !  "  he  said.  "  It  came  when  the  children 
kissed  us." 

"What?"  she  asked. 

"  These  lean  arms  of  to-morrow's  round  me,  and 
the  white  round  you,"  he  replied,  smiling  whimsical- 
ly.    She  reached  out  and  clasped  his  hand. 

"  You  foolish  boy,"  she  said. 

He  laughed  painfully,  not  able  to  look  at  her. 

"  You  know,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  low  and 
difficult.  "  I  have  needed  you  for  a  light.  You  will 
soon  be  the  only  light  again." 

"  Who  is  the  other?  "  she  asked. 

"  My  little  girl !  "  he  answered.      Then  he  con- 


462      THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

tinued,  "  And  you  know,  I  couldn't  endure  complete 
darkness,  I  couldn't.     It's  the  solitariness." 

"  You  mustn't  talk  like  this,"  she  said.  "  You 
know  you  mustn't."  She  put  her  hand  on  his  head 
and  ran  her  fingers  through  the  hair  he  had  so  ruffled. 

*  It  is  as  thick  as  ever,  your  hair,"  she  said. 

He  did  not  answer,  hut  kept  his  face  bent  out  of 
sight.  She  rose  from  her  seat  and  stood  at  the  back 
of  his  low  arm-chair.  Taking  an  amber  comb  from 
her  hair,  she  bent  over  him,  and  with  the  translucent 
comb  and  her  white  fingers  she  busied  herself  with 
his  hair. 

"  I  believe  you  would  have  a  parting,"  she  said 
softly. 

He  laughed  shortly  at  her  playfulness.  She  con- 
tinued combing,  just  touching,  pressing  the  strands  in 
place  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers. 

"  I  was  only  a  warmth  to  you,"  he  said,  pursuing 
the  same  train  of  thought.  "  So  you  could  do  with- 
out me.  But  you  were  like  the  light  to  me,  and 
otherwise  it  was  dark  and  aimless.  Aimlessness  is 
horrible." 

She  had  finally  smoothed  his  hair,  so  she  lifted  her 
hands  and  put  back  her  head. 

"  There !  "  she  said.  "  It  looks  fair  fine,  as  Alice 
would  say.  Raven's  wings  are  raggy  in  compari- 
son." 

He  did  not  pay  any  attention  to  her. 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  look  at  vourself  ?  "  she  said, 
playfully  reproachful.  She  put  her  finger-tips  under 
his  chin.  He  lifted  his  head  and  they  looked  at  each 
other,  she  smiling,  trying  to  make  him  play,  he  smil- 
ing with  his  lips,  but  not  with  eyes,  dark  with  pain. 


PISGAH  463 

"  We  can't  go  on  like  this,  Lettie,  can  we  ?  "  he 
said  softly. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  him,  "  Yes ;  why  not  ?  " 

"  It  can't !  "  he  said,  "  It  can't,  I  couldn't  keep  it 
up,  Lettie." 

"  But  don't  think  about  it,"  she  answered.  "  Don't 
think  of  it." 

"  Lettie,"  he  said.  "  I  have  to  set  my  teeth  with 
loneliness." 

"  Hush !  "  she  said.  "  No !  There  are  the  chil- 
dren. Don't  say  anything — do  not  be  serious,  will 
you?" 

"  No,  there  are  the  children,"  he  replied,  smiling 
dimly. 

"  Yes !  Hush  now !  Stand  up  and  look  what  a 
fine  parting  I  have  made  in  your  hair.  Stand  up, 
and  see  if  my  style  becomes  you." 

"  It  is  no  good,  Lettie,"  he  said,  "  we  can't  go  on." 

"  Oh,  but  come,  come,  come ! "  she  exclaimed. 
"  We  are  not  talking  about  going  on ;  we  are  con- 
sidering what  a  fine  parting  I  have  made  you  down 

the  middle,  like  two  wings  of  a  spread  bird "  she 

looked  down,  smiling  playfully  on  him,  just  closing 
her  eyes  slightly  in  petition. 

He  rose  and  took  a  deep  breath,  and  set  his 
shoulders. 

"  No,"  he  said,  and  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  Lettie 
went  pale  and  also  stiffened  herself. 

"  No !  "  he  repeated.  "  It  is  impossible.  I  felt 
as  soon  as  Fred  came  into  the  room — it  must  be  one 
way  or  another." 

"  Very  well  then,"  said  Lettie,  coldly.  Her  voice 
was  "  muted  "  like  a  violin. 


464       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  submissive.  "  The  children." 
He  looked  at  her,  contracting  his  lips  in  a  smile  of 
misery. 

"  Are  you  sure  it  must  be  so  final  ? "  she  asked, 
rebellious,  even  resentful.  She  was  twisting  the 
azurite  jewels  on  her  bosom,  and  pressing  the  blunt 
points  into  her  flesh.  He  looked  up  from  the  fasci- 
nation of  her  action  when  he  heard  the  tone  of  her 
last  question.     He  was  angry. 

"  Quite  sure !  "  he  said  at  last,  simply,  ironically. 

She  bowed  her  head  in  assent.  His  face  twitched 
sharply  as  he  restrained  himself  from  speaking  again. 
Then  he  turned  and  quietly  left  the  room.  She  did 
not  watch  him  go,  but  stood  as  he  had  left  her. 
When,  after  some  time,  she  heard  the  grating  of  his 
dog-cart  on  the  gravel,  and  then  the  sharp  trot  of 
hoofs  down  the  frozen  road,  she  dropped  herself  on 
the  settee,  and  lay  with  her  bosom  against  the  cush- 
ions, looking  fixedly  at  the  wall. 


CHAPTEK   VII 

THE    SCARP    SLOPE 

Leslie  won  the  conservative  victory  in  the  general 
election  which  took  place  a  year  or  so  after  my  last 
visit  to  "  Highclose." 

In  the  interim  the  Tempests  had  entertained  a  con- 
tinuous stream  of  people.  I  heard  occasionally  from 
Lettie  how  she  was  busy,  amused,  or  bored.  She  told 
me  that  George  had  thrown  himself  into  the  struggle 
on  behalf  of  the  candidate  of  the  Labour  Party ;  that 
she  had  not  seen  him,  except  in  the  streets,  for  a  very 
long  time. 

When  I  went  down  to  Eberwich  in  the  March  suc- 
ceeding the  election,  I  found  several  people  staying 
with  my  sister.  She  had  under  her  wing  a  young 
literary  fellow  who  affected  the  "  Doady  "  style — 
Dora  Copperfield's  "  Doady."  He  had  bunches  of 
half-curly  hair,  and  a  romantic  black  cravat;  he 
played  the  impulsive  part,  but  was  really  as  calculat- 
ing as  any  man  on  the  stock-exchange.  It  delighted 
Lettie  to  u  mother  "  him.  He  was  so  shrewd  as  to 
be  less  than  harmless.  His  fellow  guests,  a  woman 
much  experienced  in  music  and  an  elderly  man  who 
was  in  the  artistic  world  without  being  of  it,  were 
interesting  for  a  time.  Bubble  after  bubble  of  float- 
ing fancy  and  wit  we  blew  with  our  breath  in  the 
evenings.  I  rose  in  the  morning  loathing  the  idea  of 
more  bubble-blowing. 

465 


466       THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

I  wandered  around  Nethermere,  which  had  now 
forgotten  me.  The  daffodils  under  the  boat-house 
continued  their  golden  laughter,  and  nodded  to  one 
another  in  gossip,  as  I  watched  them,  never  for  a 
moment  pausing  to  notice  me.  The  yellow  reflection 
of  daffodils  among  the  shadows  of  grey  willow  in  the 
water  trembled  faintly  as  they  told  haunted  tales  in 
the  gloom.  I  felt  like  a  child  left  out  of  the  group  of 
my  playmates.  There  was  a  wind  running  across 
ISTethermere,  and  on  the  eager  water  blue  and  glisten- 
ing grey  shadows  changed  places  swiftly.  Along  the 
shore  the  wild  birds  rose,  flapping  in  expostulation  as 
I  passed,  peewits  mewing  fiercely  round  my  head, 
while  two  white  swans  lifted  their  glistening  feathers 
till  they  looked  like  grand  double  water-lilies,  laying 
back  their  orange  beaks  among  the  petals,  and  front- 
ing me  with  haughty  resentment,  charging  towards 
me  insolently. 

I  wanted  to  be  recognised  by  something.  I  said  to 
myself  that  the  dryads  were  looking  out  for  me  from 
the  wood's  edge.  But  as  I  advanced  they  shrank, 
and  glancing  wistfully,  turned  back  like  pale  flowers 
falling  in  the  shadow  of  the  forest.  I  was  a  stranger, 
an  intruder.  Among  the  bushes  a  twitter  of  lively 
birds  exclaimed  upon  me.  Finches  went  leaping  past 
in  bright  flashes,  and  a  robin  sat  and  asked  rudely: 
"Hello!     Who  are  you?" 

The  brachen  lay  sere  under  the  trees,  broken  and 
chavelled  by  the  restless  wild  winds  of  the  long 
winter. 

The  trees  caught  the  wind  in  their  tall  netted 
twigs,  and  the  young  morning  wind  moaned  at  its 
captivity.    As  I  trod  the  discarded  oak-leaves  and  the 


THE    SCARP    SLOPE  467 

bracken  they  uttered  their  last  sharp  gasps,  pressed 
into  oblivion.  The  wood  was  roofed  with  a  wide 
young  sobbing  sound,  and  floored  with  a  faint  hiss 
like  the  intaking  of  the  last  breath.  Between,  was 
all  the  glad  out-peeping  of  buds  and  anemone  flow- 
ers and  the  rush  of  birds.  I,  wandering  alone,  felt 
them  all,  the  anguish  of  the  bracken  fallen  face-down 
in  defeat,  the  careless  dash  of  the  birds,  the  sobbing 
of  the  young  wind  arrested  in  its  haste,  the  trem- 
bling, expanding  delight  of  the  buds.  I  alone  among 
them  could  hear  the  whole  succession  of  chords. 

The  brooks  talked  on  just  the  same,  just  as  gladly, 
just  as  boisterously  as  they  had  done  when  I  had 
netted  small,  glittering  fish  in  the  rest-pools.  At 
Strelley  Mill  a  servant  girl  in  a  white  cap,  and  white 
apron-bands,  came  running  out  of  the  house  with 
purple  prayer-books,  which  she  gave  to  the  elder  of 
two  finicking  girls  who  sat  disconsolately  with  their 
black-silked  mother  in  the  governess  cart  at  the  gate, 
ready  to  go  to  church.  Near  Woodside  there  was 
barbed-wire  along  the  path,  and  at  the  end  of  every 
riding  it  was  tarred  on  the  tree-trunks,  "  Private." 

I  had  done  with  the  valley  of  Nethermere.  The 
valley  of  Nethermere  had  cast  me  out  many  years 
before,  while  I  had  fondly  believed  it  cherished  me 
in  memory. 

I  went  along  the  road  to  Eberwich.  The  church 
bells  were  ringing  boisterously,  with  the  careless 
boisterousness  of  the  brooks  and  the  birds  and  the 
rollicking  coltsfoots  and  celandines. 

A  few  people  were  hastening  blithely  to  service. 
Miners  and  other  labouring  men  were  passing  in  aim- 


468       THE   WHITE   PEACOCK 

less  gangs,  walking  nowhere  in  particular,  so  long  as 
they  reached  a  sufficiently  distant  public  house. 

I  reached  the  l  Hollies.'  It  was  much  more 
spruce  than  it  had  been.  The  yard,  however,  and  the 
stables,  had  again  a  somewhat  abandoned  air.  I 
asked  the  maid  for  George. 

"  Oh,  master's  not  up  yet,"  she  said,  giving  a  little 
significant  toss  of  her  head,  and  smiling.  I  waited  a 
moment. 

"  But  he  rung  for  a  bottle  of  beer  about  ten  min- 
utes since,  so  I  should  think "  she  emphasised 

the  word  with  some  ironical  contempt,  " — he  won't 
be  very  long,"  she  added,  in  tones  which  conveyed 
that  she  was  not  by  any  means  sure.  I  asked  for 
Meg. 

"  Oh,  Missis  is  gone  to  church — and  the  children 
— But  Miss  Saxton  is  in,  she  might " 

"  Emily !  "  I  exclaimed. 

The  maid  smiled. 

"  She's  in  the  drawing-room.  She's  engaged,  but 
perhaps  if  I  tell  her " 

"  Yes,  do,"  said  I,  sure  that  Emily  would  receive 
me. 

I  found  my  old  sweetheart  sitting  in  a  low  chair 
by  the  fire,  a  man  standing  on  the  hearthrug  pulling 
his  moustache.  Emily  and  I  both  felt  a  thrill  of  old 
delight  at  meeting. 

"  I  can  hardly  believe  it  is  really  you,"  she  said, 
laughing  me  one  of  the  old  intimate  looks.  She  had 
changed  a  great  deal.  She  was  very  handsome,  but 
she  had  now  a  new  self-confidence,  a  fine,  free  indif- 
ference. 

"  Let  me  introduce  you.     Mr.  Kenshaw,  Cyril. 


THE    SCARP    SLOPE  469 

Tom,  you  know  who  it  is  you  have  heard  me  speak 
often  enough  of  Cyril.  I  am  going  to  marry  Tom  in 
three  weeks'  time,"  she  said,  laughing. 

"  The  devil  you  are !  "  I  exclaimed  involuntarily. 

"  If  he  will  have  me,"  she  added,  quite  as  a  play- 
ful afterthought, 

Tom  was  a  well-huilt  fair  man,  smoothly,  almost 
delicately  tanned.  There  was  something  soldierly  in 
his  bearing,  something  self-conscious  in  the  way  he 
bent  his  head  a-nd  pulled  his  moustache,  something 
charming  and  fresh  in  the  way  he  laughed  at  Emily's 
last  preposterous  speech. 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Why  didn't  you  ask  me  ? "  she  retorted,  arching 
her  brows. 

"  Mr.  Renshaw,"  I  said.  "  You  have  out-ma- 
noeuvred me  all  unawares,  quite  indecently." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  he  said,  giving  one  more  twist 
to  his  moustache,  then  breaking  into  a  loud,  short 
laugh  at  his  joke. 

"  Do  you  really  feel  cross  ? "  said  Emily  to  me, 
knitting  her  brows  and  smiling  quaintly. 

"  I  do !  "  I  replied,  with  truthful  emphasis. 

She  laughed,  and  laughed  again,  very  much 
amused. 

"  It  is  such  a  joke,"  she  said.  "  To  think  you 
should  feel  cross,  now,  when  it  is — how  long  is  it 
ago ?" 

"  I  will  not  count  up,"  said  I. 

"  Are  you  not  sorry  for  me?"  I  asked  of  Tom 
Renshaw. 

He  looked  at  me  with  his  young  blue  eyes,  eyes  so 
bright,  so  naively  inquisitive,  so  winsomely  medita- 


470      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

tive.  He  did  not  know  quite  what  to  say,  or  how  to 
take  it. 

"  Very !  "  he  replied  in  another  short  burst  of 
laughter,  quickly  twisting  his  moustache  again  and 
looking  down  at  his  feet. 

He  was  twenty-nine  years  old ;  had  been  a  soldier 
in  China  for  five  years,  was  now  farming  his  father's 
farm  at  Papplewick,  where  Emily  was  schoolmistress. 
He  had  been  at  home  eighteen  months.  His  father 
was  an  old  man  of  seventy  who  had  had  his  right 
hand  chopped  to  bits  in  the  chopping  machine.  So 
they  told  me.  I  liked  Tom  for  his  handsome  bearing, 
and  his  fresh,  winsome  way.  He  was  exceedingly 
manly :  that  is  to  say  he  did  not  dream  of  questioning 
or  analysing  anything.  All  that  came  his  way  was 
ready  labelled  nice  or  nasty,  good  or  bad.  He  did 
not  imagine  that  anything  could  be  other  than  just 
what  it  appeared  to  be: — and  with  this  appearance, 
he  was  quite  content.  He  looked  up  to  Emily  as  one 
wiser,  nobler,  nearer  to  God  than  himself. 

"  I  am  a  thousand  years  older  than  he,"  she  said 
to  me,  laughing.  "  Just  as  you  are  centuries  older 
than  I." 

"  And  you  love  him  for  his  youth  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied.  "  For  that  and — he  is  won- 
derfully sagacious — and  so  gentle." 

"  And  I  was  never  gentle,  was  1 8  "  I  said. 

"  No !  As  restless  and  as  urgent  as  the  wind," 
she  said,  and  I  saw  a  last  flicker  of  the  old  terror. 

"  Where  is  George  ? "  I  asked. 

"  In  bed,"  she  replies  briefly.  "  He's  recovering 
from  one  of  his  orgies.  If  I  were  Meg  I  would  not 
live  with  him." 


THE    SCARP    SLOPE  471 

*  Is  he  so  bad  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Bad !  "  she  replied.  "  He's  disgusting,  and  I'm 
sure  he's  dangerous.  I'd  have  him  removed  to  an 
inebriate's  home." 

"  You'd  have  to  persuade  him  to  go,"  said  Tom, 
who  had  come  into  the  room  again.  "  He  does 
have  dreadful  bouts,  though!  He's  killing  him- 
self, sure  enough.  I  feel  awfully  sorry  for  the  fel- 
low." 

"  It  seems  so  contemptible  to  me,"  said  Emily, 
"  to  become  enslaved  to  one  of  your  likings  till  it 
makes  a  beast  of  you.  Look  what  a  spectacle  he  is 
for  his  children,  and  what  a  disgusting  disgrace  for 
his  wife." 

"  Well,  if  he  can't  help  it,  he  can't,  poor  chap," 
said  Tom.  "  Though  I  do  think  a  man  should  have 
more  backbone." 

We  heard  heavy  noises  from  the  room  above. 

"  He  is  getting  up,"  said  Emily.  "  I  suppose  I'd 
better  see  if  he'll  have  any  breakfast."  She  waited, 
however.  Presently  the  door  opened,  and  there 
stood  George  with  his  hand  on  the  knob,  leaning, 
looking  in. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  three  voices,"  he  said,  as  if  it 
freed  him  from  a  certain  apprehension.  He  smiled. 
His  waistcoat  hung  open  over  his  woollen  shirt,  he 
wore  no  coat  and  was  slipperless.  His  hair  and  his 
moustache  were  dishevelled,  his  face  pale  and  stupid 
with  sleep,  his  eyes  small.  He  turned  aside  from 
our  looks  as  from  a  bright  light.  His  hand  as  I 
shook  it  was  flaccid  and  chill. 

"  How  do  you  come  to  be  here,  Cyril  ? "  he  said 
subduedly,  faintly  smiling. 


472      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  Will  you  have  any  breakfast  ? "  Emily  asked 
him  coldly. 

"  I'll  have  a  bit  if  there's  any  for  me,"  he  re- 
plied. 

"  It  has  been  waiting  for  you,  long  enough,"  she 
answered.  He  turned  and  went  with  a  dull  thud  of 
his  stockinged  feet  across  to  the  dining-room.  Emily 
rang  for  the  maid,  I  followed  George,  leaving  the 
betrothed  together.  I  found  my  host  moving  about 
the  dining-room,  looking  behind  the  chairs  and  in  the 
corners. 

"  I  wonder  where  the  devil  my  slippers  are ! "  he 
muttered  explanatorily.  Meanwhile  he  continued 
his  search.  I  noticed  he  did  not  ring  the  bell  to  have 
them  found  for  him.  Presently  he  came  to  the  fire, 
spreading  his  hands  over  it.  As  he  was  smashing 
the  slowly  burning  coal  the  maid  came  in  with  the 
tray.  He  desisted,  and  put  the  poker  carefully 
down.  While  the  maid  spread  his  meal  on  one  cor- 
ner of  the  table,  he  looked  in  the  fire,  paying  her  no 
heed.     When  she  had  finished: 

"It's  fried  white-bait,"  she  said.  "Shall  you 
have  that  ? " 

He  lifted  his  head  and  looked  at  the  plate. 

"  Ay,"  he  said.  "  Have  you  brought  the  vine- 
gar?" 

Without  answering,  she  took  the  cruet  from  the 
sideboard  and  set  it  on  the  table.  As  she  was  closing 
the  door,  she  looked  back  to  say: 

"  You'd  better  eat  it  now,  while  it's  hot." 

He  took  no  notice,  but  sat  looking  in  the  fire. 

"  And  how  are  you  going  on  ?  "  he  asked  me. 

"  I  ?    Oh,  very  well !    And  you ?  " 


THE    SCARP    SLOPE  473 

"  As  yon  see,"  he  replied,  turning  his  head  on  one 
side  with  a  little  gesture  of  irony. 

"  As  I  am  very  sorry  to  see,"  I  rejoined. 

He  sat  forward  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  tap- 
ping the  back  of  his  hand  with  one  finger,  in  monoto- 
nous two-pulse  like  heart-beats. 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  have  breakfast  ?  "  I  urged. 
The  clock  at  that  moment  began  to  ring  a  sonorous 
twelve.     He  looked  up  at  it  with  subdued  irritation. 

"  Ay,  I  suppose  so,"  he  answered  me,  when  the 
clock  had  finished  striking.  He  rose  heavily  and 
went  to  the  table.  As  he  poured  out  a  cup  of  tea  he 
spilled  it  on  the  cloth,  and  stood  looking  at  the  stain. 
It  was  still  some  time  before  he  began  to  eat.  He 
poured  vinegar  freely  over  the  hot  fish,  and  ate  with 
an  indifference  that  made  eating  ugly,  pausing  now 
and  again  to  wipe  the  tea  off  his  moustache,  or  to 
pick  a  bit  of  fish  from  off  his  knee. 

"  You  are  not  married,  I  suppose  ?  "  he  said  in  one 
of  his  pauses. 

"  No,"  I  replied.  "  I  expect  I  shall  have  to  be 
looking  round." 

"  You're  wiser  not,"  he  replied,  quiet  and  bitter. 

A  moment  or  two  later  the  maid  came  in  with  a 
letter. 

"  This  came  this  morning,"  she  said,  as  she  laid  it 
on  the  table  beside  him.  He  looked  at  it,  then  he 
said: 

"  You  didn't  give  me  a  knife  for  the  marmalade." 

"Didn't  I?"  she  replied.  "I  thought  you 
wouldn't  want  it.     You  don't  as  a  rule." 

"  And  do  you  know  where  my  slippers  are  ? "  he 
asked. 


474      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  They  ought  to  be  in  their  usual  place."  She 
went  and  looked  in  the  corner.  "  I  suppose  Miss 
Gertie's  put  them  somewhere.  I'll  get  you  another 
pair." 

As  he  waited  for  her  he  read  the  letter.  He  read 
it  twice,  then  he  put  it  back  in  the  envelope,  quietly, 
without  any  change  of  expression.  But  he  ate  no 
more  breakfast,  even  after  the  maid  had  brought  the 
knife  and  his  slippers,  and  though  he  had  had  but  a 
few  mouthfuls. 

At  half-past  twelve  there  was  an  imperious  wom- 
an's voice  in  the  house.  Meg  came  to  the  door.  As 
she  entered  the  room,  and  saw  me,  she  stood  still. 
She  sniffed,  glanced  at  the  table,  and  exclaimed,  com- 
ing forward  effusively: 

"  Well  I  never,  Cyril !  Who'd  a  thought  of  see- 
ing you  here  this  morning !     How  are  you  ?  " 

She  waited  for  the  last  of  my  words,  then  imme- 
diately she  turned  to  George,  and  said : 

"  I  must  say  you're  in  a  nice  state  for  Cyril  to  see 
you!  Have  you  finished? — if  you  have,  Kate  can 
take  that  tray  out.  It  smells  quite  sickly.  Have  you 
finished?" 

He  did  not  answer,  but  drained  his  cup  of  tea  and 
pushed  it  away  with  the  back  of  his  hand.  Meg  rang 
the  bell,  and  having  taken  off  her  gloves,  began  to 
put  the  things  on  the  tray,  tipping  the  fragments  of 
fish  and  bones  from  the  edge  of  his  plate  to  the  mid- 
dle with  short,  disgusted  jerks  of  the  fork.  Her  atti- 
tude and  expression  were  of  resentment  and  disgust. 
The  maid  came  in. 

"  Clear  the  table  Kate,  and  open  the  window. 
Have  you  opened  the  bedroom  windows  ? " 


THE    SCARP    SLOPE  475 

"No'm — not  yet/' — she  glanced  at  George  as  if 
to  say  he  had  only  been  down  a  few  minutes. 

"  Then  do  it  when  you  have  taken  the  tray,"  said 
Meg. 

"  You  don't  open  this  window,"  said  George  churl- 
ishly.    "  It's  cold  enough  as  it  is." 

"  You  should  put  a  coat  on  then  if  you're  starved," 
replied  Meg  contemptuously.  "  It's  warm  enough 
for  those  that  have  got  any  life  in  their  blood.  You 
do  not  find  it  cold,  do  you  Cyril  ?  " 

"  It  is  fresh  this  morning,"  I  replied. 

"  Of  course  it  is,  not  cold  at  all.  And  I'm  sure 
this  room  needs  airing." 

The  maid,  however,  folded  the  cloth  and  went  out 
without  approaching  the  windows. 

Meg  had  grown  stouter,  and  there  was  a  certain 
immovable  confidence  in  her.  She  was  authoritative, 
amiable,  calm.  She  wore  a  handsome  dress  of  dark 
green,  and  a  toque  with  opulent  ostrich  feathers.  As 
she  moved  about  the  room  she  seemed  to  dominate 
everything,  particularly  her  husband,  who  sat  ruffled 
and  dejected,  his  waistcoat  hanging  loose  over  his 
shirt. 

A  girl  entered.  She  was  proud  and  mincing  in 
her  deportment.  Her  face  was  handsome,  but  too 
haughty  for  a  child.  She  wore  a  white  coat,  with 
ermine  tippet,  muff,  and  hat.  Her  long  brown  hair 
hung  twining  down  her  back. 

"  Has  dad  only  just  had  his  breakfast  ? "  she  ex- 
claimed in  high  censorious  tones  as  she  came  in. 

"  He  has !  "  replied  Meg. 

The  girl  looked  at  her  father  in  calm,  childish  cen- 
sure. 


476      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  And  we  have  been  to  church,  and  come  home  to 
dinner,"  she  said,  as  she  drew  off  her  little  white 
gloves.  George  watched  her  with  ironical  amuse- 
ment. 

"  Hello ! "  said  Meg,  glancing  at  the  opened 
letter  which  lay  near  his  elbow.  "  Who  is  that 
from  ?  " 

He  glanced  round,  having  forgotten  it.  He  took 
the  envelope,  doubled  it  and  pushed  it  in  his  waist- 
coat pocket. 

"  It's  from  William  Housley,"  he  replied. 

"  Oh !    And  what  has  he  to  say  ?  "  she  asked. 

George  turned  his  dark  eyes  at  her. 

"  Nothing !  "  he  said. 

"  Hm-Hm !  "  sneered  Meg.  "  Funny  letter,  about 
nothing !  " 

"  I  suppose,"  said  the  child,  with  her  insolent, 
high-pitched  superiority,  "  It's  some  money  that  he 
doesn't  want  us  to  know  about." 

"  That's  about  it !  "  said  Meg,  giving  a  small  laugh 
at  the  child's  perspicuity. 

"  So's  he  can  keep  it  for  himself,  that's  what  it 
is,"  continued  the  child,  nodding  her  head  in  rebuke 
at  him. 

"  I've  no  right  to  any  money,  have  I  ? "  asked  the 
father  sarcastically. 

"  No,  you  haven't,"  the  child  nodded  her  head  at 
him  dictatorially,  "you  haven't,  because  you  only 
put  it  in  the  fire." 

"  You've  got  it  wrong,"  he  sneered.  "  You  mean 
it's  like  giving  a  child  fire  to  play  with." 

"Urn! — and  it  is,  isn't  it  Mam?" — the  small 
woman  turned  to  her  mother  for  corroboration.    Meg 


THE    SCARP    SLOPE  477 

had  flushed  at  his  sneer,  when  he  quoted  for  the 
child  its  mother's  dictum. 

"  And  you're  very  naughty !  "  preached  Gertie, 
turning  her  back  disdainfully  on  her  father. 

"  Is  that  what  the  parson's  been  telling  you  ? "  he 
asked,  a  grain  of  amusement  still  in  his  bitterness. 

"  No  it  isn't !  "  retorted  the  youngster.  "  If  you 
want  to  know  you  should  go  and  listen  for  yourself. 

Everybody  that  goes  to  church  looks  nice "  she 

glanced  at  her  mother  and  at  herself,  pruning  herself 
proudly,  " — and  God  loves  them,"  she  added.  She 
assumed  a  sanctified  expression,  and  continued  after 
a  little  thought :  "  Because  they  look  nice  and  are 
meek." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Meg,  laughing,  glancing  with 
secret  pride  at  me. 

"  Because  they're  meek !  "  repeated  Gertie,  with  a 
superior  little  smile  of  knowledge. 

"  You're  off  the  mark  this  time,"  said  George. 

"  No,  I'm  not,  am  I  Mam  ?  Isn't  it  right  Mam  ? 
1  The  meek  shall  inevit  the  erf '  ?  " 

Meg  was  too  much  amused  to  answer. 

"  The  meek  shall  have  herrings  on  earth,"  mocked 
the  father,  also  amused.  His  daughter  looked  dubi- 
ously at  him.     She  smelled  impropriety. 

"  It's  not,  Mam,  is  it  ?  "  she  asked,  turning  to  her 
mother.    Meg  laughed. 

"  The  meek  shall  have  herrings  on  earth,"  re- 
peated George  with  soft  banter. 

"  No  it's  not  Mam,  is  it  ? "  cried  the  child  in  real 
distress. 

"  Tell  your  father  he's  always  teaching  you  some- 
thing wrong,"  answered  Meg. 


478      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

Then  I  said  I  must  go.    They  pressed  me  to  stay. 

"  Oh,  yes — do  stop  to  dinner,"  suddenly  pleaded 
the  child,  smoothing  her  wild  ravels  of  curls  after 
having  drawn  off  her  hat.  She  asked  me  again  and 
again,  with  much  earnestness. 

"  But  why  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  So's  you  can  talk  to  us  this  afternoon — an'  so's 
Dad  won't  be  so  dis'greeable,"  she  replied  plaintively, 
poking  the  black  spots  on  her  muff. 

Meg  moved  nearer  to  her  daughter  with  a  little 
gesture  of  compassion. 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  I  promised  a  lady  I  would  be  back 
for  lunch,  so  I  must.  You  have  some  more  visitors, 
you  know." 

*  Oh,  well !  "  she  complained,  "  They  go  in  another 
room,  and  Dad  doesn't  care  about  them." 

"But  come!"  said  I. 

"  Well,  he's  just  as  dis'greeable  when  Auntie 
Emily's  here — he  is  with  her  an'  all." 

"  You  are  having  your  character  given  away,"  said 
Meg  brutally,  turning  to  him. 

I  bade  them  good-bye.  He  did  me  the  honour  of 
coming  with  me  to  the  door.  We  could  neither  of  us 
find  a  word  to  say,  though  we  were  both  moved. 
When  at  last  I  held  his  hand  and  was  looking  at  him 
as  I  said  "  Good-bye,"  he  looked  back  at  me  for  the 
first  time  during  our  meeting.  His  eyes  were  heavy 
and  as  he  lifted  them  to  me,  seemed  to  recoil  in  an 
agony  of  shame. 


CHAPTEE   VIII 

A   PROSPECT   AMONG   THE   MARSHES    OF    LETHE 

George  steadily  declined  from  this  time.  I  went  to 
see  him  two  years  later.  He  was  not  at  home.  Meg 
wept  to  me  as  she  told  me  of  him,  how  he  let  the  busi- 
ness slip,  how  he  drank,  what  a  brute  he  was  in 
drink,  and  how  unbearable  afterwards.  He  was  ruin- 
ing his  constitution,  he  was  ruining  her  life  and  the 
children's.  I  felt  very  sorry  for  her  as  she  sat,  large 
and  ruddy,  brimming  over  with  bitter  tears.  She 
asked  me  if  I  did  not  think  I  might  influence  him. 
He  was,  she  said,  at  the  "  Earn."  When  he  had  an 
extra  bad  bout  on  he  went  up  there,  and  stayed  some- 
times for  a  week  at  a  time,  with  Oswald,  coming  back 
to  the  "  Hollies  "  when  he  had  recovered — "  though," 
said  Meg,  "  he's  sick  every  morning  and  almost  after 
every  meal." 

All  the  time  Meg  was  telling  me  this,  sat  curled 
up  in  a  large  chair  their  youngest  boy,  a  pale,  sensi- 
tive, rather  spoiled  lad  of  seven  or  eight  years,  with  a 
petulant  mouth,  and  nervous  dark  eyes.  He  sat 
watching  his  mother  as  she  told  her  tale,  heaving  his 
shoulders  and  settling  himself  in  a  new  position  when 
his  feelings  were  nearly  too  much  for  him.  He  was 
full  of  wild,  childish  pity  for  his  mother,  and  furious, 
childish  hate  of  his  father,  the  author  of  all  their 
trouble.  I  called  at  the  "  Earn  "  and  saw  George. 
He  was  half  drunk. 

479 


480       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

I  went  up  to  Highclose  with  a  heavy  heart.  Let- 
tie's  last  child  had  been  born,  much  to  the  surprise  of 
everybody,  some  few  months  before  I  came  down. 
There  was  a  space  of  seven  years  between  her  young- 
est girl  and  this  baby.  Lettie  was  much  absorbed  in 
motherhood. 

When  I  went  up  to  talk  to  her  about  George.  I 
found  her  in  the  bedroom  nursing  the  baby,  who  was 
very  good  and  quiet  on  her  knee.  She  listened  to  me 
sadly,  but  her  attention  was  caught  away  by  each 
movement  made  by  the  child.  As  I  was  telling  her 
of  the  attitude  of  George's  children  towards  their 
father  and  mother,  she  glanced  from  the  baby  to  me, 
and  exclaimed: 

"  See  how  he  watches  the  light  flash  across  your 
spectacles  when  you  turn  suddenly — Look !  " 

But  I  was  weary  of  babies.  My  friends  had  all 
grown  up  and  married  and  inflicted  them  on  me. 
There  were  storms  of  babies.  I  longed  for  a  place 
where  they  would  be  obsolete,  and  young,  arrogant, 
impervious  mothers  might  be  a  forgotten  tradition. 
Lettie's  heart  would  quicken  in  answer  to  only  one 
pulse,  the  easy,  light  ticking  of  the  baby's  blood. 

I  remembered,  one  day  as  I  sat  in  the  train  hasten- 
ing to  Charing  Cross  on  my  way  from  France,  that 
that  was  George's  birthday.  I  had  the  feeling  of  him 
upon  me,  heavily,  and  I  could  not  rid  myself  of  the 
depression.  I  put  it  down  to  travel  fatigue,  and  tried 
to  dismiss  it.  As  I  watched  the  evening  sun  glitter 
along  the  new  corn-stubble  in  the  fields  we.  passed, 
trying  to  describe  the  effect  to  myself,  I  found  myself 
asking :  "  But — what's  the  matter  ?  I've  not  had  bad 
news,  have  I,  to  make  my  chest  feel  so  weighted  ?  " 


AMONG    THE    MARSHES      481 

I  was  surprised  when  I  reached  my  lodging  in  New 
Maiden  to  find  no  letters  for  me,  save  one  fat  budget 
from  Alice.  I  knew  her  squat,  saturnine  handwrit- 
ing on  the  envelope,  and  I  thought  I  knew  what  con- 
tents to  expect  from  the  letter. 

She  had  married  an  old  acquaintance  who  had  been 
her  particular  aversion.  This  young  man  had  got 
himself  into  trouble,  so  that  the  condemnations  of  the 
righteous  pursued  him  like  clouds  of  gnats  on  a  sum- 
mer evening.  Alice  immediately  rose  to  sting  back 
his  vulgar  enemies,  and  having  rendered  him  a  service, 
felt  she  could  only  wipe  out  the  score  by  marrying 
him.  They  were  fairly  comfortable.  Occasionally, 
as  she  said,  there  were  displays  of  small  fireworks  in 
the  back  yard.  He  worked  in  the  offices  of  some 
iron  foundries  just  over  the  Erewash  in  Derbyshire. 
Alice  lived  in  a  dirty  little  place  in  the  valley  a  mile 
and  a  half  from  Eberwich,  not  far  from  his  work. 
She  had  no  children,  and  practically  no  friends;  a 
few  young  matrons  for  acquaintances.  As  wife  of  a 
superior  clerk,  she  had  to  preserve  her  dignity  among 
the  work-people.  So  all  her  little  crackling  fires  were 
sodded  down  with  the  sods  of  British  respectability. 
Occasionally  she  smouldered  a  fierce  smoke  that  made 
one's  eyes  water.  Occasionally,  perhaps  once  a  year, 
she  wrote  me  a  whole  venomous  budget,  much  to  my 
amusement. 

I  was  not  in  any  haste  to  open  this  fat  letter,  until, 
after  supper,  I  turned  to  it  as  a  resource  from  my 
depression. 

"  Oh  dear  Cyril,  I'm  in  a  bubbling  state,  I  want  to 
yell,  not  write.  Oh,  Cyril,  why  didn't  you  marry  me, 
or  why  didn't  our  Georgie  Saxton,  or  somebody.     I'm 


482       THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

deadly  sick.  Percival  Charles  is  enough  to  stop  a 
clock.  Oh,  Cyril,  he  lives  in  an  eternal  Sunday  suit, 
holy  broad-cloth  and  righteous  three  inches  of  cuffs! 
He  goes  to  bed  in  it.  Nay,  he  wallows  in  bibles  when 
he  goes  to  bed.  I  can  feel  the  brass  covers  of  all  his 
family  bibles  sticking  in  my  ribs  as  I  lie  by  his  side. 
I  could  weep  with  wrath,  yet  I  put  on  my  black  hat 
and  trot  to  chapel  with  him  like  a  lamb. 

"  Oh,  Cyril,  nothing's  happened.  Nothing  has 
happened  to  me  all  these  years.  I  shall  die  of  it 
When  I  see  Percival  Charles  at  dinner,  after  having 
asked  a  blessing,  I  feel  as  if  I  should  never  touch  a  bit 
at  his  table  again.  In  about  an  hour  I  shall  hear  him 
hurrying  up  the  entry — prayers  always  make  him 
hungry — and  his  first  look  will  be  on  the  table.  But 
I'm  not  fair  to  him — he's  really  a  good  fellow — I 
only  wish  he  wasn't. 

"  It's  George  Saxton  who's  put  this  seidlitz  powder 
in  my  marital  cup  of  cocoa.  Cyril,  I  must  a  tale  un- 
fold. It  is  fifteen  years  since  our  George  married 
Meg.  When  I  count  up,  and  think  of  the  future,  it 
nearly  makes  me  scream.     But  my  tale,  my  tale ! 

"Can  you  remember  his  faithful-dog,  wounded- 
stag,  gentle-gazelle  eyes?  Cyril,  you  can  see  the 
whisky,  or  the  brandy  combusting  in  them.  He's  got 
d — t's,  blue-devils — and  I've  seen  him,  and  I'm 
swarming  myself  with  little  red  devils  after  it.  I 
went  up  to  Eberwich  on  Wednesday  afternoon  for  a 
pound  of  fry  for  Percival  Charles'  Thursday  dinner. 
I  walked  by  that  little  path  which  you  know  goes 
round  the  back  of  the  '  Hollies  ' — it's  as  near  as  any 
way  for  me.  I  thought  I  heard  a  row  in  the  paddock 
at  the  back  of  the  stables,  so  I  said  I  might  as  well  see 


AMONG   THE    MARSHES      483 

the  fun.  I  went  to  the  gate,  basket  in  one  hand,  nine- 
pence  in  coppers  in  the  other,  a  demure  deacon's  wife. 
I  didn't  take  in  the  scene  at  first. 

"  There  was  our  Georgie,  in  leggings  and  breeches 
as  of  yore,  and  a  whip.  He  was  flourishing,  and 
striding,  and  yelling.  '  Go  it  old  boy,'  I  said,  l  you'll 
want  your  stocking  round  your  throat  to-night.'  But 
Cyril,  I  had  spoken  too  soon.  Oh,  lum!  There 
came  raking  up  the  croft  that  long,  wire-springy  race- 
horse of  his,  ears  flat,  and,  clinging  to  its  neck,  the 
pale-faced  lad,  Wilfred.  The  kid  was  white  as  death, 
and  squealing  '  Mam !  mam !  '  I  thought  it  was  a 
bit  rotten  of  Georgie  trying  to  teach  the  kid  to  jockey. 
The  race-horse,  Bonny-Boy — Boney  Boy  I  call  him — 
came  bouncing  round  like  a  spiral  egg-whish.  Then 
I  saw  our  Georgie  rush  up  screaming,  nearly  spitting 
the  moustache  off  his  face,  and  fetch  the  horse  a  cut 
with  the  whip.  It  went  off  like  a  flame  along  hot 
paraffin.  The  kid  shrieked  and  clung.  Georgie  went 
rushing  after  him,  running  staggery,  and  swearing, 
fairly  screaming, — awful — '  a  lily-livered  little 
swine ! '  The  high  lanky  race-horse  went  larroping 
round  as  if  it  was  going  mad.  I  was  dazed.  Then 
Meg  came  rushing,  and  the  other  two  lads,  all  scream- 
ing. She  went  for  George,  but  he  lifted  his  whip 
like  the  devil.  She  daren't  go  near  him — she  rushed 
at  him,  and  stopped,  rushed  at  him,  and  stopped, 
striking  at  him  with  her  two  fists.  He  waved  his 
whip  and  kept  her  off,  and  the  race-horse  kept  tearing 
along.  Meg  flew  to  stop  it,  he  ran  with  his  drunken 
totter-step,  brandishing  his  whip.  I  flew  as  well.  I 
hit  him  with  my  basket.  The  kid  fell  off,  and  Meg 
rushed  to  him.     Some  men  came  running.     George 


484      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

stood  fairly  shuddering.  You  would  never  have 
known  his  face,  Cyril.  He  was  mad,  demoniacal.  I 
feel  sometimes  as  if  I  should  burst  and  shatter  to  bits 
like  a  sky-rocket  when  I  think  of  it.  I've  got  such  a 
weal  on  my  arm. 

"  I  lost  Percival  Charles'  ninepence,  and  my  nice 
white  cloth  out  of  the  basket,  and  everything,  besides 
having  black  looks  on  Thursday  because  it  was  mut- 
ton chops,  which  he  hates.  Oh,  Cyril,  '  I  wish  I  was 
a  cassowary,  on  the  banks  of  the  Timbuctoo.'  When 
I  saw  Meg  sobbing  over  that  lad — thank  goodness 
he  wasn't  hurt — !  I  wished  our  Georgie  was  dead ; 
I  do  now,  also ;  I  wish  we  only  had  to  remember  him. 
I  haven't  been  to  see  them  lately — can't  stand  Meg's 
ikeyness.     I  wonder  how  it  all  will  end. 

"There's  P.  C.  bidding  ' Good-night  and  God  Bless 
You  '  to  Brother  Jakes,  and  no  supper  ready " 

As  soon  as  I  could,  after  reading  Alice's  letter,  I 
went  down  to  Eberwich  to  see  how  things  were. 
Memories  of  the  old  days  came  over  me  again  till 
my  heart  hungered  for  its  old  people. 

They  told  me  at  the  "  Hollies  "  that,  after  a  bad  at- 
tack of  delirium  tremens,  George  had  been  sent  to 
Papplewick  in  the  lonely  country  to  stay  with  Emily. 
I  borrowed  a  bicycle  to  ride  the  nine  miles.  The 
summer  had  been  wet,  and  everything  was  late.  At 
the  end  of  September  the  foliage  was  heavy  green, 
and  the  wheat  stood  dejectedly  in  stook.  I  rode 
through  the  still  sweetness  of  an  autumn  morning. 
The  mist  was  folded  blue  along  the  hedges ;  the  elm 
trees  loomed  up  along  the  dim  walls  of  the  morning, 
the  horsechestnut  trees  at  hand  flickered  with  a  few 
yellow  leaves  like  bright  blossoms.     As  I  rode  through 


AMONG    THE    MARSHES      485 

the  tree  tunnel  by  the  church  where,  on  his  last  night, 
the  keeper  had  told  me  his  story,  I  smelled  the  cold 
rotting  of  the  leaves  of  the  cloudy  summer. 

I  passed  silently  through  the  lanes,  where  the  chill 
grass  was  weighed  down  with  grey-blue  seed-pearls 
of  dew  in  the  shadow,  where  the  wet  woollen  spider- 
cloths  of  autumn  were  spread  as  on  a  loom.  Brown 
birds  rustled  in  flocks  like  driven  leaves  before  me. 
I  heard  the  far-off  hooting  of  the  "  loose-all "  at  the 
pits,  telling  me  it  was  half-past  eleven,  that  the  men 
and  boys  would  be  sitting  in  the  narrow  darkness  of 
the  mines  eating  their  "  snap,"  while  shadowy  mice 
darted  for  the  crumbs,  and  the  boys  laughed  with  red 
mouths  rimmed  with  grime,  as  the  bold  little  crea- 
tures peeped  at  them  in  the  dim  light  of  the  lamps. 
The  dog-wood  berries  stood  jauntily  scarlet  on  the 
hedge-tops,  the  bunched  scarlet  and  green  berries  of 
the  convolvulus  and  bryony  hung  amid  golden  trails, 
the  blackberries  dropped  ungathered.  I  rode  slowly 
on,  the  plants  dying  around  me,  the  berries  leaning 
their  heavy  ruddy  mouths,  and  languishing  for  the 
birds,  the  men  imprisoned  underground  below  me,  the 
brown  birds  dashing  in  haste  along  the  hedges. 

Swineshed  Farm,  where  the  Renshaws  lived,  stood 
quite  alone  among  its  fields,  hidden  from  the  highway 
and  from  everything.  The  lane  leading  up  to  it  was 
deep  and  unsunned.  On  my  right,  I  caught  glimpses 
through  the  hedge  of  the  corn-fields,  where  the  shocks 
of  wheat  stood  like  small  yellow-sailed  ships  in  a 
wide-spread  flotilla.  The  upper  part  of  the  field  was 
cleared.  I  heard  the  clank  of  a  wagon  and  the  voices 
of  men,  and  I  saw  the  high  load  of  sheaves  go  lurch- 
ing, rocking  up  the  incline  to  the  stackyard. 


486      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

The  lane  debouched  into  a  close-bitten  field,  and 
out  of  this  empty  land  the  farm  rose  up  with  its 
buildings  like  a  huddle  of  old,  painted  vessels  float- 
ing in  still  water.  White  fowls  went  stepping  dis- 
creetly through  the  mild  sunshine  and  the  shadow. 
I  leaned  my  bicycle  against  the  grey,  silken  doors  of 
the  old  coach-house.  The  place  was  breathing  with 
silence.  I  hesitated  to  knock  at  the  open  door. 
Emily  came.  She  was  rich  as  always  with  her  large 
beauty,  and  stately  now  with  the  stateliness  of  a 
strong  woman  six  months  gone  with  child. 

She  exclaimed  with  surprise,  and  I  followed  her 
into  the  kitchen,  catching  a  glimpse  of  the  glistening 
pans  and  the  white  wood  baths  as  I  passed  through 
the  scullery.  The  kitchen  was  a  good-sized,  low  room 
that  through  long  course  of  years  had  become  abso- 
lutely a  home.  The  great  beams  of  the  ceiling  bowed 
easily,  the  chimney-seat  had  a  bit  of  dark-green  cur- 
tain, and  under  the  high  mantel-piece  was  another 
low  shelf  that  the  men  could  reach  with  their  hands 
as  they  sat  in  the  ingle-nook.  There  the  pipes  lay. 
Many  generations  of  peaceful  men  and  fruitful 
women  had  passed  through  the  room,  and  not  one  but 
had  added  a  new  small  comfort ;  a  chair  in  the  right 
place,  a  hook,  a  stool,  a  cushion,  a  certain  pleasing 
cloth  for  the  sofa  covers,  a  shelf  of  books.  The  room, 
that  looked  so  quiet  and  crude,  was  a  home  evolved 
through  generations  to  fit  the  large  bodies  of  the  men 
who  dwelled  in  it,  and  the  placid  fancy  of  the  women. 
At  last,  it  had  an  individuality.  It  was  the  home  of 
the  Renshaws,  warm,  lovable,  serene.  Emily  was  in 
perfect  accord  with  its  brownness,  its  shadows,  its 
ease.     I,  as  I  sat  on  the  sofa  under  the  window,  felt 


AMONG   THE    MARSHES      487 

rejected  by  the  kind  room.  I  was  distressed  with  a 
sense  of  ephemerality,  of  pale,  erratic  fragility. 

Emily,  in  her  full-blooded  beauty,  was  at  home.  It 
is  rare  now  to  feel  a  kinship  between  a  room  and  the 
one  who  inhabits  it,  a  close  bond  of  blood  relation. 
Emily  had  at  last  found  her  place,  and  had  escaped 
from  the  torture  of  strange,  complex  modern  life. 
She  was  making  a  pie,  and  the  flour  was  white  on  her 
brown  arms.  She  pushed  the  tickling  hair  from  her 
face  with  her  arm,  and  looked  at  me  with  tranquil 
pleasure,  as  she  worked  the  paste  in  the  yellow  bowl. 
I  was  quiet,  subdued  before  her. 

"  You  are  very  happy  ?  "  I  said. 

"  Ah  very !  "  she  replied.  "  And  you  ? — you  are 
not,  you  look  worn." 

"  Yes,"  I  replied.  "lam  happy  enough.  I  am 
living  my  life." 

"  Don't  you  find  it  wearisome  ? "  she  asked  pity- 
ingly- 

She  made  me  tell  her  all  my  doings,  and  she  mar- 
velled, but  all  the  time  her  eyes  were  dubious  and  piti- 
ful. 

"  You  have  George  here,"  I  said. 

"  Yes.  He's  in  a  poor  state,  but  he's  not  as  sick 
as  he  was." 

"  What  about  the  delirium  tremens  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  was  better  of  that — very  nearly — before 
he  came  here.  He  sometimes  fancies  they're  coming 
on  again,  and  he's  terrified.  Isn't  it  awful!  And 
he's  brought  it  all  on  himself.  Tom's  very  good  to 
him." 

"  There's  nothing  the  matter  with  him — physically, 
is  there  ?  "  I  asked. 


488      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

"I  don't  know,"  she  replied, as  she  went  to  the  oven 
to  turn  a  pie  that  was  baking.  She  put  her  arm  to 
her  forehead  and  brushed  aside  her  hair,  leaving  a 
mark  of  flour  on  her  nose.  For  a  moment  or  two  she 
remained  kneeling  on  the  fender,  looking  into  the  fire 
and  thinking.  "  He  was  in  a  poor  way  when  he 
came  here,  could  eat  nothing,  sick  every  morning.  I 
suppose  it's  his  liver.  They  all  end  like  that."  She 
continued  to  wipe  the  large  black  plums  and  put  them 
in  the  dish. 

"  Hardening  of  the  liver  ?  "  I  asked.     She  nodded. 

"  And  is  he  in  bed  ?  "  I  asked  again. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied.  "  It's  as  I  say,  if  he'd  get  up 
and  potter  about  a  bit,  he'd  get  over  it.  But  he  lies 
there  skulking." 

"  And  what  time  will  he  get  up  ?  "  I  insisted. 

"  I  don't  know.  He  may  crawl  down  somewhere 
towards  tea-time.  Do  you  want  to  see  him  ?  That's 
what  you  came  for,  isn't  it  ?  " 

She  smiled  at  me  with  a  little  sarcasm,  and  added : 
"  You  always  thought  more  of  him  than  anybody, 
didn't  you  ?     Ah,  well,  come  up  and  see  him." 

I  followed  her  up  the  back  stairs,  which  led  out  of 
the  kitchen,  and  which  emerged  straight  in  a  bedroom. 
We  crossed  the  hollow-sounding  plaster-floor  of  this 
naked  room  and  opened  a  door  at  the  opposite  side. 
George  lay  in  bed  watching  us  with  apprehensive 
eyes. 

"  Here  is  Cyril  come  to  see  you,"  said  Emily,  "  so 
I've  brought  him  up,  for  I  didn't  know  when  you'd 
be  downstairs." 

A  small  smile  of  relief  came  on  his  face,  and  he 
put  out  his  hand  from  the  bed.     He  lay  with  the 


AMONG   THE   MARSHES      489 

disorderly  clothes  pulled  up  to  his  chin.  His  face 
was  discoloured,  and  rather  bloated,  his  nose  swollen. 

"  Don't  you  feel  so  well  this  morning  ? "  asked 
Emily,  softening  with  pity  when  she  came  into  con- 
tact with  his  sickness. 

"  Oh,  all  right,"  he  replied,  wishing  only  to  get 
rid  of  us. 

"  You  should  try  to  get  up  a  bit,  it's  a  beautiful 
morning,  warm  and  soft — "  she  said  gently.  He  did 
not  reply,  and  she  went  downstairs. 

I  looked  round  to  the  cold,  whitewashed  room, 
with  its  ceiling  curving  and  sloping  down  the  walls. 
It  was  sparsely  furnished,  and  bare  of  even  the  slight- 
est ornament.  The  only  things  of  warm  colour  were 
the  cow  and  horse  skins  on  the  floor.  All  the  rest 
was  white  or  grey  or  drab.  On  one  side,  the  roof 
sloped  down  so  that  the  window  was  below  my  knees, 
and  nearly  touching  the  floor,  on  the  other  side  was 
a  larger  window,  breast  high.  Through  it  one  could 
see  the  jumbled,  ruddy  roofs  of  the  sheds  and  the 
skies.  The  tiles  were  shining  with  patches  of  vivid 
orange  lichen.  Beyond  was  the  corn-field,  and  the 
men,  small  in  the  distance,  lifting  the  sheaves  on  the 
cart. 

"  You  will  come  back  to  farming  again,  won't 
you  ?  "  I  asked  him,  turning  to  the  bed.    He  smiled. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered  dully. 

"  Would  you  rather  I  went  downstairs  %  "  I  asked. 

"  No,  I'm  glad  to  see  you,"  he  replied,  in  the  same 
uneasy  fashion. 

"  I've  only  just  come  back  from  France,"  I  said. 

"  Ah !  "  he  replied,  indifferent. 

"  I  am  sorry  you're  ill,"  I  said. 


490       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

He  stared  unmovedly  at  the  opposite  wall.  I  went 
to  the  window,  and  looked  out.  After  some  time,  I 
compelled  myself  to  say,  in  a  casual  manner: 

"  Won't  you  get  up  and  come  out  a  bit  ? " 

"  I  suppose  Is'll  have  to,"  he  said,  gathering  him- 
self slowly  together  for  the  effort.  He  pushed  him- 
self up  in  bed. 

When  he  took  off  the  jacket  of  his  pajamas  to 
wash  himself  I  turned  away.  His  arms  seemed  thin, 
and  he  had  bellied,  and  was  bowed  and  unsightly.  I 
remembered  the  morning  we  swam  in  the  mill-pond. 
I  remembered  that  he  was  now  in  the  prime  of  his 
life.  I  looked  at  his  bluish  feeble  hands  as  he  labo- 
riously washed  himself.  The  soap  once  slipped  from 
his  fingers  as  he  was  picking  it  up,  and  fell,  rattling 
the  pot  loudly.  It  startled  us,  and  he  seemed  to  grip 
the  sides  of  the  washstand  to  steady  himself.  Then 
he  went  on  with  his  slow,  painful  toilet.  As  he 
combed  his  hair  he  looked  at  himself  with  dull  eyes 
of  shame. 

The  men  were  coming  in  from  the  scullery  when 
we  got  downstairs.  Dinner  was  smoking  on  the 
table.  I  shook  hands  with  Tom  Renshaw,  and  with 
the  old  man's  hard,  fierce  left  hand.  Then  I  was  in- 
troduced to  Arthur  Renshaw,  a  clean-faced,  large, 
bashful  lad  of  twenty.  I  nodded  to  the  man,  Jim, 
and  to  Jim's  wife,  Annie.    We  all  sat  down  to  table. 

"  Well,  an'  W  are  ter  f eelin'  by  now,  like  ?  "  asked 
the  old  man  heartily  of  George.  Receiving  no  an- 
swer, he  continued,  "  Tha  should  'a  gor  up  an'  com' 
an'  gen  us  a  'and  wi'  th'  wheat,  it  'ud  'a  done  thee 
good." 

"  You  will  have  a  bit  of  this  mutton,  won't  you  ?  " 


AMONG   THE   MARSHES      491 

Tom  asked  him,  tapping  the  joint  with  the  carving 
knife.    George  shook  his  head. 

"  It's  quite  lean,  and  tender,"  he  said  gently. 

"  No,  thanks,"  said  George. 

"  Gi'e  'im  a  bit,  gi'e  'im  a  bit !  "  cried  the  old  man. 
"  It'll  do  'im  good — it's  what  'e  wants,  a  bit  o' 
strengthenin'  nourishment." 

"  It's  no  good  if  his  stomach  won't  have  it,"  said 
Tom,  in  mild  reproof,  as  if  he  were  speaking  of  a 
child.  Arthur  filled  George's  glass  with  beer  with- 
out speaking.  The  two  young  men  were  full  of  kind, 
gentle  attention. 

"  Let  'im  'a'e  a  spoonful  o'  tonnup  then,"  persisted 
the  old  man.  "  I  canna  eat  while  'is  plate  stands 
there  emp'y." 

So  they  put  turnip  and  onion  sauce  on  George's 
plate,  and  he  took  up  his  fork  and  tasted  a  few 
mouthfuls.  The  men  ate  largely,  and  with  zest. 
The  sight  of  their  grand  satisfaction,  amounting 
almost  to  gusto,  sickened  him. 

When  at  last  the  old  man  laid  down  the  dessert 
spoon  which  he  used  in  place  of  a  knife  and  fork,  he 
looked  again  at  George's  plate,  and  said : 

"  Why  tha  'asna  aten  a  smite,  not  a  smite !  Tha 
non  goos  th'  raight  road  to  be  better." 

George  maintained  a  stupid  silence. 

"  Don't  bother  him,  father,"  said  Emily. 

"  Tha  art  an  owd  whittle,  feyther,"  added  Tom, 
smiling  good-naturedly.  He  spoke  to  his  father  in 
dialect,  but  to  Emily  in  good  English.  Whatever  she 
said  had  Tom's  immediate  support.  Before  serving 
us  with  pie,  Emily  gave  her  brother  junket  and  dam- 
sons, setting  the  plate  and  the  spoon  before  him  as  if 


492      THE   WHITE    PEACOCK 

he  were  a  child.  For  this  act  of  grace  Tom  looked 
at  her  lovingly,  and  stroked  her  hand  as  she  passed. 

After  dinner,  George  said,  with  a  miserable  strug- 
gle for  an  indifferent  tone: 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  give  Cyril  a  glass  of 
whisky  ? " 

He  looked  up  furtively,  in  a  conflict  of  shame  and 
hope.     A  silence  fell  on  the  room. 

"  Ay !  "  said  the  old  man  softly.  "  Let  'im  'ave  a 
drop." 

"  Yes !  "  added  Tom,  in  submissive  pleading. 

All  the  men  in  the  room  shrank  a  little,  awaiting 
the  verdict  of  the  woman. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said  clearly,  "  that  Cyril 
wants  a  glass." 

"  I  don't  mind."  I  answered,  feeling  myself 
blush.  I  had  not  the  courage  to  counteract  her  will 
directly.  Not  even  the  old  man  had  that  courage. 
We  waited  in  suspense.  After  keeping  us  so  for  a 
few  minutes,  while  we  smouldered  with  mortifica- 
tion, she  went  into  another  room,  and  we  heard  her 
unlocking  a  door.  She  returned  with  a  decanter  con- 
taining rather  less  than  half  a  pint  of  liquor.  She 
put  out  five  tumblers. 

"  Tha  nedna  gi'e  me  none,"  said  the  old  man. 
"  Ah'm  non  a  proud  chap.     Ah'm  not." 

"  Nor  me  neither,"  said  Arthur. 

"  You  will  Tom  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  ?  "  he  replied,  smiling. 

"  I  don't,"  she  answered  sharply.  "  I  want  no- 
body to  have  it,  when  you  look  at  the  results  of  it. 
But  if  Cyril  is  having  a  glass,  you  may  as  well  have 
one  with  him." 


AMONG    THE    MARSHES      493 

Tom  was  pleased  with  her.  She  gave  her  husband 
and  me  fairly  stiff  glasses. 

"  Steady,  steady !  "  he  said.  "  Give  that  George, 
and  give  me  not  so  much.  Two  fingers,  two  of  your 
fingers,  you  know." 

But  she  passed  him  the  glass.  When  George  had 
had  his  share,  there  remained  but  a  drop  in  the  de- 
canter. 

Emily  watched  the  drunkard  coldly  as  he  took  this 
remainder. 

George  and  I  talked  for  a  time  while  the  men 
smoked.  He,  from  his  glum  stupidity,  broke  into  a 
harsh,  almost  imbecile  loquacity. 

"  Have  you  seen  my  family  lately  ? "  he  asked, 
continuing.  "  Yes !  Not  badly  set  up,  are  they,  the 
children?  But  the  little  devils  are  soft,  mard-soft, 
every  one 'of  'em.  It's  their  mother's  bringin'  up — 
she  marded  'em  till  they  were  soft,  an'  would  never 
let  me  have  a  say  in  it.  I  should  'a  brought  'em  up 
different,  you  know  I  should." 

Tom  looked  at  Emily,  and,  remarking  her  angry 
contempt,  suggested  that  she  should  go  out  with  him 
to  look  at  the  stacks.  I  watched  the  tall,  square- 
shouldered  man  leaning  with  deference  and  tender- 
ness towards  his  wife  as  she  walked  calmly  at  his 
side.  She  was  the  mistress,  quiet  and  self-assured, 
he  her  rejoiced  husband  and  servant. 

George  was  talking  about  himself.  If  I  had  not 
seen  him,  I  should  hardly  have  recognised  the  words 
as  his.  He  was  lamentably  decayed.  He  talked 
stupidly,  with  vulgar  contumely  of  others,  and  in 
weak  praise  of  himself. 

The  old  man  rose,  with  a: 


494       THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

"  Well,  I  suppose  we  mun  ma'e  another  dag  at  it," 
and  the  men  left  the  house. 

George  continued  his  foolish,  harsh  monologue, 
making  gestures  of  emphasis  with  his  head  and  his 
hands.  He  continued  when  we  were  walking  round 
the  buildings  into  the  fields,  the  same  babble  of  brag- 
ging and  abuse.  I  was  wearied  and  disgusted.  He 
looked,  and  he  sounded,  so  worthless. 

Across  the  empty  cornfield  the  partridges  were 
running.  We  walked  through  the  September  haze 
slowly,  because  he  was  feeble  on  his  legs.  As  he  be- 
came tired  he  ceased  to  talk.  We  leaned  for  some 
time  on  a  gate,  in  the  brief  glow  of  the  transient 
afternoon,  and  he  was  stupid  again.  He  did  not 
notice  the  brown  haste  of  the  partridges,  he  did  not 
care  to  share  with  me  the  handful  of  ripe  blackber- 
ries, and  when  I  pulled  the  bryony  ropes  off  the 
hedges,  and  held  the  great  knots  of  red  and  green 
berries  in  my  hand,  he  glanced  at  them  without  in- 
terest or  appreciation. 

"  Poison-berries,  aren't  they  ?  "  he  said  dully. 

Like  a  tree  that  is  falling,  going  soft  and  pale  and 
rotten,  clammy  with  small  fungi,  he  stood  leaning 
against  the  gate,  while  the  dim  afternoon  drifted  with 
a  flow  of  thick  sweet  sunshine  past  him,  not  touching 
him. 

In  the  stackyard,  the  summer's  splendid  monu- 
ments of  wheat  and  grass  were  reared  in  gold  and 
grey.  The  wheat  was  littered  brightly  round  the  ris- 
ing stack.  The  loaded  wagon  clanked  slowly  up  the 
incline,  drew  near,  and  rode  like  a  ship  at  anchor 
against  the  scotches,  brushing  the  stack  with  a  crisp, 
sharp  sound.     Tom  climbed  the  ladder  and  stood  a 


AMONG    THE    MARSHES      495 

moment  there  against  the  sky,  amid  the  brightness 
and  fragrance  of  the  gold  corn,  and  waved  his  arm  to 
his  wife  who  was  passing  in  the  shadow  of  the  build- 
ing. Then  Arthur  began  to  lift  the  sheaves  to  the 
stack,  and  the  two  men  worked  in  an  exquisite,  subtle 
rhythm,  their  white  sleeves  and  their  dark  heads 
gleaming,  moving  against  the  mild  sky  and  the  corn. 
The  silence  was  broken  only  by  the  occasional  lurch 
of  the  body  of  the  wagon,  as  the  teamer  stepped  to 
the  front,  or  again  to  the  rear  of  the  load.  Occa- 
sionally I  could  catch  the  blue  glitter  of  the  prongs 
of  the  forks.  Tom,  now  lifted  high  above  the  small 
wagon  load,  called  to  his  brother  some  question  about 
the  stack.  The  sound  of  his  voice  was  strong  and 
mellow. 

I  turned  to  George,  who  also  was  watching,  and 
said: 

"  You  ought  to  be  like  that." 

We  heard  Tom  calling,  "  All  right !  "  and  saw  him 
standing  high  up  on  the  tallest  corner  of  the  stack, 
as  on  the  prow  of  a  ship. 

George  watched,  and  his  face  slowly  gathered  ex- 
pression. He  turned  to  me,  his  dark  eyes  alive  with 
horror  and  despair. 

"I  shall  soon — be  out  of  everybody's  way!"  he 
said.  His  moment  of  fear  and  despair  was  cruel. 
I  cursed  myself  for  having  roused  him  from  his 
stupor. 

"  You  will  be  better,"  I  said. 

He  watched  again  the  handsome  movement  of  the 
men  at  the  stack. 

"  I  couldn't  team  ten  sheaves,"  he  said. 

"  You  will  in  a  month  or  two,"  I  urged. 


496      THE    WHITE    PEACOCK 

He  continued  to  watch,  while  Tom  got  on  the  ladder 
and  came  down  the  front  of  the  stack. 

"  Nay,  the  sooner  I  clear  out,  the  better,"  he  re- 
peated to  himself. 

When  we  went  in  to  tea,  he  was,  as  Tom  said, 
"  downcast."  The  men  talked  uneasily  with  abated 
voices.  Emily  attended  to  him  with  a  little,  palpitat- 
ing solicitude.  We  were  all  uncomfortably  im- 
pressed with  the  sense  of  our  alienation  from  him. 
He  sat  apart  and  obscure  among  us,  like  a  condemned 
man. 


THE    END 


..:::..    .:..;.:. 


